Workingman’s Daughter
Your parent’s efforts are in your eyes,
Sculpted into your professional hands,
Written into the way you smile gently.
Their love and care made you,
I feel you bringing that to me.
What sort of love did they share?
How did they stay as one?
I see their joy,
Lines of knowledge carved in their faces,
Slowly wondering if I can make that life,
Share that with you.
Your have their honesty,
Their deep secrets,
Their simple goodness…
But our times are different,
We struggle within ourselves,
Making love difficult…
One time, we traveled together to a cemetery,
I saw you touch the gravestone of a dead man,
An unknown Soldier in that place,
You were sad, but wanted to share your heart.
Your parents made you beautiful.
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