My dad was a working man
With never— ever—an idle hand.

And far from perfect as could be,
He believed in his family.

To support his children and his wife,
He worked every day of life.

His mother passed when he was five,
Which left him hurt—torn inside.

Her memories were far and few;
His dad and siblings were all he knew.
©

Walterrean Salley

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/daddy-was-a-working-man/