DAD’S LETTERS
My dad ain’t just the letter writin’ kind—
He’d rather let the women see to that;
He’s got a mess o’ troubles on his mind,
And likes to keep ’em underneath his hat.
And p’raps because he isn’t very strong
On talkin’, why, he’s kind o’ weak on ink;
But he can work like sin the whole year long,
And, crickey, how that dad o’ mine can think!
When I set out from Homeville last July,
He didn’t bawl the way my sister did;
He just shook hands and says, “Well, boy, goodbye.”
(He’s got his feelin’s, but he keeps ’em hid.)
And so when mother writes about the things
That I spend half my time a-thinkin’ of,
There’s one short line that every letter brings:
“Father will write, and meanwhile sends his love.”
“Father will write.” Well, some day p’raps he will—
There’s lots of funny prophecies come true;
But if he just keeps promisin’ to, still,
I’ll understand, and dad’ll know I do.