Papa


Haunting tune...
the dancers keep time,
twisting and turning,
on tip-toes that rhyme,
hands held up high,
not grasping together,
memories glisten...
in tears I remember.


The many nails I've straightened,
over time and time again,
bring back moments in time,
to now...from then.

Pulling out weeds -
in a garden of flowers -
means more to me now,
in life's passing hours.

We built together...
through wood and plaster...
a foundation for life...
here ever after.

We look up up to the man,
who built so much with his hands...
a rowboat in the summer,
to a cabin on lakeside land.

Whitewood Beach will always be...
a place I remember well...
for it's a place I learned about Papa...
- hid the memories I could not tell.

Through times spent away from home...
on camping trips with the Scouts...
I learned what being away meant...
(being on the in's and being on the OUT's)

Being accepted and loved meant everything...
to a boy now grown into man...
For in all the painful memories...
a love grows...as deep as it can.

All the hard work we shared ---
All the sports we took time to play ---
Have made a difference to me ---
and are in my thoughts each day.

For respect grows from within...
though tarnished and bruised inside...
Because mistakes can be forgiven...
and family love can never hide.

So even when old habits leave us...
and new ways of life take hold...
we'll remember what Papa taught us...
and the many things we were told.

I'll never shy away from a challenge...
I help others whenever I can...
For hard work is all I live by...
I'm strong - I'm my Papa's MAN.

But there are 3 other boys,
Who grew up along with me…
My brothers and I each different,
As unique as 3 men could be.

But in common, we share special memories…
Of how Papa taught us to care…
Delivering Christmas gifts to sick children,
And orphans with no family there.

So as time goes racing past me...
like the wind on a biker's face...
I realize what is important...
what events MEAN, that have taken place.

Like the dancers inside the music box...
who filled me with peace, long ago...
I listen, look back, and remember...
and now I truly know...

Papa, I love you, dearly.
I can heal my wounds, and go on...
I want you to know you are cherished...
and I'm proud to be your son.

So I made for you, this present,
A Sacred Jesus encircled in gold,
To remind you of the special love…
That only a heart can hold.

Wear this on your finger…
On the hand that has done so much…
Remember your son Michel…
And his life you'll forever touch.

jesus


This poem is written...
as a Christmas gift from Michel Gouin
... for his Papa ...
...Jacques Gouin ...
Christmas 2001
by ...
Erlene Monteith