Letter to the Editor: A Father's Day poem: Days with Dad
Back into my early years,
my mind's eye now can see
the things that drew my interest,
when I was little more than three.
It was sometime in the morning,
that I'd be out of bed
and coming to the kitchen,
there was mama baking bread.
I found my little tractor,
then pushed a chair across the floor,
up to the corner of the table,
as I'd done many times before.
Then mom would sift some flour,
and I'd make like it was real,
and drive my little tractor,
back and forth like Dad's out in the field.
From these years now,
I've moved on a little bit,
from my wagon and bicycle
to that W.C. Allis where I'd sit.
As the oats got ripe in August,
Dad and I became a team.
Dad was back there on our binder,
this type of day fulfilled Dad's dream.
Oh, 'twould be the greatest
to live those days again,
For when I drove Daddy's tractor there,
I sure thought myself a man.
I marveled at machinery, different pulleys,
sprockets, belts and chains;
How the men who had put it all together,
surely God had blessed with brains.
I was truly just amazed,
at the thresher and steamer of days gone by,
and that knotter on our baler tied each bale,
quick as a boy could wink his eye.
It would take a book, I think,
to tell all the changes there have been.
And I thank God for Dad,
who one day told me,
"Willard, see this cotter pin?"
Among the finest plans,
only God could ever have had,
is this: that little boys are blessed
who can grow up with their Dad