MY DEAR OLD DAD

MY DEAR OLD DAD

I was walking past the wine lodge; I could smell the sweet white wine
This place I used to drink in, with that dear old dad of mine

He’d been a para-trooper, in his young days as a lad
The war had made him angry, and his dreams at night were bad

He got a job in Civvy Street, with a demolition gang
And in the club at week-end, played piano and he sang

The jokes we shared were many, we laughed into the night
And often we would drink too much, then go and start a fight

My dad could shift a lot of drink; he loved his food as well
He was a giant of a man, and always looked so well

He’d done a bit of boxing, and a bit of this and that
You knew my dad a long way off, he wore a scotch plod hat

He loved to have a little bet, on a horse or on the match
Occasionally we’d go fishing, though we never had a catch

One day he said we need to talk, in private if we can
The hospital have sent for me, to have another scan

They said it was a cancer, but with treatment would subside
Then in two weeks aggressively, it spread and then he died

I had to write this story; this man was all I had
A very special kind of guy, that’s my dear old dad

WRC