Love’s Last Labor

He worked until the day he passed.
A man his children barely knew;
His son and daughter came back home
To do whatever they could do

And out there where he’d left it last:
The old truck that he’d always had –
They sat and watched the sun go down
And traded stories of their dad

What do you say about someone
For whom to speak was rare?
Who never showed his tenderness
Or gave a sign he cared?

But in the glove compartment, there –
Three pics of long duration:
Of their two parents’ wedding day
And their, each, graduation

He’d carried with him all these years
Since they had moved away:
They realized he was proud of them
He just could never say

The sun goes down in silence as
The darkening night forbids —
But love’s last labor knows the truth:
Their father
Loved
His kids

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

2 thoughts on “Love’s Last Labor”

  1. This … oh, man.

    When my mom’s dad died, someone sent her the pictures he carried in his wallet and showed anyone who cared to see, and hear him speak proudly of those pictured: my mom and her kids. She’d had no idea he’d felt much of anything for her but disappointment and disdain.

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s