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A TRIBUTE TO MY DAD.
When I look into your eyes, I see myself sometimes
I realise we've both shared more happier times.
I see a man who has stood his ground,
through the trials and tribulations that have been around.

Over the years, the memories we've shared.
Our picnics and barbecues, our family who cared.
We weren't blessed with riches, fineries or gold.
We were given much more than others, I've been told.

We have a family who has always been there.
A father whose heart, big and bold, showed us he cared.
Often at times, we've not seen eye to eye.
I've given you your share of heartaches as the years have gone by.

And all through this time Dad, I've come to realise,
We've the same raging spirit inside, You and I.
Now I'm a little older, this slowed me down for sure.
I raised a child of my own who inherited this wild spirit's furore.

I'm sorry for the suffering, to you my Dad I've caused.
My wild Irish heart didn't have time to stop and pause.
Wandering life's maze, searching for what would be,
I just didn't realise that the "Secret" was in me.

When I was a little girl, I remember these things
Furry gloves, gentle hands, a funny rocking thing.
A two headed-doll I used to turn upside down.
Our drives to the park, picnics and mushrooming around.

Dancing in my cot, singing "Mary-anne".
Years later, playing the organ for you, on my shoulder placed your hand.
Moving furniture from here to there.
Your daughter 'a wanderer', but always for me, you were there.

Building fences, even a ceiling we put up.
You taught me to be strong and to keep my chin up.
The many broken things that you mended for me.
Your loving arms, around me placed when "shattered" my dreams would be.

The times you were in a rage, over the anguish I bore you.
looked into your eyes and saw myself, an "O'Hara" to be true.
You and I, tarred with the same brush, our Irish Heritage does show.
Of this I'm really proud Dad, and the world will surely know.

No matter what the memories show, there's one thing that shines clear.
Your kindness to animals, even though you protested when near.
And no matter how little we had, there was always some to spare
for the children and less fortunate for whom my Dad did care.

Children and animals loved you so, they always flocked around.
To be sure, we are lucky for this Father's love we had.
I know I'm not the daughter that you planned my life to be.
But I'm sure proud to be the daughter of the Father God appointed me.


*Note. The Tribute to my Dad poem was penned when I learnt my father was dying from prostate cancer. It was my gift to him and it was used at his funeral. It was penned in the days where I did not have a computer and I painstakingly put the poem on special parchment in calligraphy.
©Peggy O'Hara

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