My Father (A Tribute to Fathers – Western Version)

Who went to work, planning ahead

His brain and brawn bringing our bread

Heavy work sweat on his brow spread?

My father.


When pain and sickness made me cry

Who lifted me without being shy

And ran for help; I must not die?

My father.


Who taught my hands to hold a pen,

A lawnmower and count to ten

So I could grow like noble men?

My father.


And can I ever cease to be

Forthright, faithful, fruitful and free,

For I have learnt my best from thee,

My father?


Ah no!  the thought I cannot bear

To spend a life that will not care.

I pledge my word to be all fair,

My father.


When you are wrinkled, weak, and worn,

My well-built hands shall every morn

Fetch your heart-gladdening wine and corn,

My father.


– Patrick