Dad was a man well used to grief –
his wife was taken; Death’s a thief.
He remained captain of his soul,
all fragments made an honest whole.

He showed me how to stand upright
not bowed down, and to hold on tight
to common sense and all life’s joys, 
to filter good from much harsh noise.

Just Dad and me; over the years
we had our laughs, we shed our tears.
He had my back, he had my heart;
but life must end – he’d played his part. 

Around my neck a bauble bright,
silver chain then a catch of light –
a molten moon, droplet of pearl,
Dad’s gift to me, his lucky girl.

I wore it then, I wear it now –
gift of love, it reminds me how
my Dad saw beauty with delight
in sunny days or darkest night.