The hands of a father

December 21, 2007
By
His face is covered,
In wrinkles that will spread.
In his eyes he will speak,
Words that were already said.

His wrinkles prove his age,
And his wisdom…I do not know.
But when I look into his eyes,
I see his intelligence rate is not low.

His hair my be gray,
And his words may be old.
But his eyes speak to me,
And tell me the untold.

His bright blue eyes,
look deep within me,
His bright blue eyes,
Can uncover any key.

Without any words,
Without any conversations.
His eyes can seek,
Any of my complications.

His eyes can perform any of these
undertakings in which I speak of.
But the greatest achievement of all is,
In his eyes I can see love.

His eyes prevail,
Without nothing less then a slobber.
The eyes are nothing more,
Then the loving eyes of a father.

I could not yearn,
For such greater eyes.
Then the one I see every day,
That reminds of the skies.
Merry Christmas dad! I love you!





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