As I set here on this fine day,
I think of my youth and the games I played.
When I was a boy of about eight,
I learned how this old world could hate.
When at this very young age,
I could not understand my fatherís rage.
He began to drink when I was young,
all we could do was hide and run.


Donít get me wrong, I loved my dad,
but the things he did were really sad.
Mom, on the other hand, was quite a case,
she was full of love as well as grace.
She worked so hard to provide a home
so my brothers and I would not be alone.
With these three sons and a dad to tend.
Iím sure more then once, she was at wits end.


The war was on and things were tight,
all dad wanted, was to go and fight.
But the Board said no, you stay at home,
And in a short while he was all alone.
His friends were all gone or on the way,
The war would go on but he would stay.
From that day on he would start to hate,
The Government and all, who began his fate.




© By Jack Long (Jacjenlong@aol.com)



 

 


Watch these pages for other poems by Jack Long.
In the meantime, click the links below for
poems and stories by our other authors.



The Power Of Letting Go

Write To A Picture 4

If I Live To Be A Hundred

Alfie's All About

Old Tree Roots

My Grandmother's Magic Apron

Hat Pin Hottie

Songs From A Tree



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