The clock I am planning to use as an illustration is very much like the one Dad ( aka Joe aka the father I won when I married the handsome acorn that fell near:) ) built for Ray and I. Ours is purdier, of course. Best thing is that Dad is literally with us. Reminds us every time we walk down the hall to savor the beauty. Hell with the time!
~~~~~~~~~~
Special thanks to Carmen and Sandie for the beautiful tributes that helped inspire me to try to put into words my admiration and affection for the man who taught me what father means. DAD. Others among you have written wonderfully creative and deeply touching tributes.
B l e s s y o u!
~~~~~~~~
Love and Awe,

'Pea'<3

   .Up There Gettin ’er Done
                  [for Joe]
 
He wanted folks to call him Joe.
Naturally it was Edgar, Edgar.
With a smile and a wink, he let it go.
Name don’ make a man, you know.
 
“Father-in-law” for hoity-toits.
Just like that, I had a Dad.
Biology may have made a point,
but Dad won the field for love.
 
More country gent than good ol’ boy,
wicked glint in his foolproof  eyes.
Clear as an Ozark crick  don’ toy.
Talked when he had something to talk.
 
Where he  come from,  got ‘er done.
Git yourself to a workshop and plane.
Carve gewgaws, make shelves to put ‘em  on
for the Missuz.   Dadburn grandfather clock.
 
As for politics and such crimes,
Joe had a saying fit tongue-and-groove
Rather look a mule in the ass anytime.
Never heard him cuss but the one time.
 
Dad got diabetes, and it hit him hard.
Lost a leg.  Had a couple strokes.
Caught us all off guard.
Worst was, he lost his beloved farm.
 
Never mind, Daughter.   Hear my new joke?   
Sun  still  rises.   Fish  still  bite.
Can’t write more,   starting to choke.
Never let you go, Dad.  Never let you go.
 
 
©) Phyllis Jean Green, 2005