The Father's Sacrifice
There lived a man of humble means,
Whose hands were rough, whose back was bent,
From working hard behind the scenes.
He rose before the morning sun,
When stars still glimmered in the night,
To start a day that had begun,
With hopes to make their future bright.
His children slept in dreams so sweet,
Unaware of the day's demands,
Of how their father’s calloused feet,
Would walk for them through distant lands.
With each sunrise, he’d face the toil,
His sweat the price of daily bread,
In fields or factories, he’d uncoil,
The strength that kept their hunger fed.
Through summer’s heat and winter’s cold,
He labored on without complaint,
For love and duty made him bold,
And painted him a saintly saint.
His hands, like leather, worn and tough,
Held gently those he cherished dear,
They showed the world a man so rough,
But hid from them his silent tear.
For in his heart, he carried weight,
The fears and dreams for those he loved,
He’d bear it all, accept his fate,
While praying to the stars above.
At night, when all the world would sleep,
He’d sit beside their beds and smile,
His love for them, a well so deep,
Would span a thousand, thousand miles.
He’d read them tales of knights and kings,
Of dragons fierce and battles won,
Yet more heroic were the things,
This father did for everyone.
For in those stories, they would find,
The echoes of his daily strife,
A truth that whispered through their mind,
Of sacrifices for their life.
Each birthday, holiday, and cheer,
Each moment filled with joy and glee,
Was bought with every drop and tear,
Their father shed so silently.
He knew his dreams would fade away,
His hopes would dim, his wishes too,
But if his children saw the day,
Where theirs would come to life and bloom,
Then he would rest, content and proud,
His heart at peace, his spirit light,
To know he’d stood beneath the cloud,
And led them through the darkest night.
He’d trade his sleep, his comforts all,
For just a glimpse of their delight,
To watch them rise and never fall,
To see them take their destined flight.
He taught them strength was not in might,
But in the love and selfless care,
In standing firm through every fight,
In always being just and fair.
And though his name may not resound,
In history’s grand and endless tome,
Within his family, he was crowned,
The hero of their hearts, their home.
For what he gave was more than gold,
More precious than the rarest gem,
A love that never could be sold,
A legacy that lived in them.
So as the years would come and pass,
And time would etch its lines so deep,
His children knew that love, like glass,
Was fragile yet a treasure to keep.
They’d honor him in word and deed,
In lives well-lived and dreams fulfilled,
For in their hearts, he’d plant the seed,
Of all the love he’d gently tilled.
And when at last his journey ends,
When twilight calls and night descends,
He’ll rest in peace, amidst the friends,
And family he had helped transcend.
For in the echoes of their laughter,
In all the joy they’d come to find,
He lives on, now and ever after,
In every heart, in every mind.
A father’s love, a silent vow,
Unspoken yet forever true,
His sacrifice, an endless bow,
That spans the sky of deepest blue.
And so this tale of quiet might,
Of tender hands and weary bones,
Reminds us of the endless light,
That in a father’s heart, is sown.
With every step, with every strain,
He builds a world that they might see,
A life untouched by fear or pain,
A testament to love's decree.
In every dawn, in every night,
His spirit soars above the skies,
A father's love, purest and bright,
An endless flame that never dies.
