Ode to Papa

Sometimes I never know,

what my father keeps on doing so,

which makes me feel sometimes good,

and sometimes bad,

as never so.

He enjoys his cigarette

in his hand

and drinks ever so…

like a fish in a sea.

Good heavens what all he does

he repairs all the broken things for us.

He is intelligent,

I am proud.

He is genius,

I have no doubt.

He is smart,

I think he is so…

and all for it

some good wishes of my own

go to him,

for he’s the Santa of our home.

23/12/1993

My first poem ever, for dad on his birthday, 25th Dec., Christmas.