Translate

Thursday, December 23, 1993

Ode to Papa

Sometimes I never know,
what my father keeps on doing so,
which makes me feel sometimes good,
and sometimes bad,
as never so.

He enjoys his cigarette
in his hand
and drinks ever so…
like a fish in a sea.

Good heavens what all he does
he repairs all the broken things for us.
He is intelligent,
I am proud.
He is genius,
I have no doubt.
He is smart,
I think he is so…
and all for it
some good wishes of my own
go to him,
for he’s the Santa of our home.

23/12/1993
My first poem ever, for dad on his birthday, 25th Dec., Christmas.