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To Dad
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Written for my father's funeral service.
Murray Herbert Rodger
November 1929 - December 2007
I came and gave you sleepless times
you hushed me close and sang me rhymes
and as I grew you held me tight
filled my life with pure delight
You brushed me off when I did fall
your pocketknife was at the call
to scrap away the mud that formed
on little hands with looks forlorn
You let me wear your hat and boots
to dress like dad it was a hoot
but quickly did the time just fly
like clouds across the Crookston sky
When I watched you playing pool
you taught me how to keep my cool
and pot the black to win a game
but wasn't quite my call to fame
There were the times I have to say
of little fish that got away
but off we'd go in calmer seas
to catch a cray or blues to please
Then off we'd head, to home we'd go
to cook the catch we loved just so
and wash the boat with all our gear
just in time for that cold beer... or gin
As I learned all through the years
amid some nights of flooded tears
you'd tell me not to speak so loud
to loose some weight and stand up proud
You kept away the young men too
scared them off, now I wonder who
I loved you through your grumpy days
respected you for all your ways
There's many things I could recall
of work and play and smiles galore
and of course you don't stand there
move this way, come over here
But here I have to keep it short
and bless you Dad just as I ought
to thank you for the life you shared
and how lovingly for us you cared
Thank you for sharing your life with me.
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