A new portrait of My Old Dad

I’ve seen some things I’ve never seen before concerning my old Dad,

Things I didn’t notice more until his health got really bad

Things which weren’t apparent, till I helped him with his kegs,

sagging skin hanging loosely on extremely skinny legs

His feet could do with a pumice scrub; the nails are gnarled and thick

It’s not hard to sum it up why he hobbles with his walking stick

He now can’t shave to improve his image, an accident’s one of his constant fears

He's frightened of a fatal slippage, hairs up his nose match those in his ears

And I know he used to pride himself on how meticulously he used to dress

Now he doesn’t care if a bit of wee runs down his pants and makes a mess

While he’s still got some mettle, it’s still a blessing that’s for sure

But he’s stubborn now and forgetful, and getting befuddled more and more

If he doesn’t answer his phone I then, keep trying with anxious urgency

he’s practically as deaf as a stone; it's when, he could've suffered some emergency

Reaching this ill-health stage, I can’t blame his disposition     

He’s made it to a ripe old age as though this old boy's on a mission

to live long and prosper, so the saying goes, though preferably, one hopes, in one piece

But various ailments do oppose the quality of this, life’s temporary lease

You see this man cut down, once fit and strong, when life’s clock has ebbed away his youth

And he doesn’t look like he has very long, and that's the ugly agonising truth

And equally sad I see the slow but steady, and unforgiving cruel decline

With one foot in the grave already, by Mother Nature’s flawed design

(Mind you, he’s still got his cheeky grin; a better look with his dentures in)

Still, while the years might rob this man of all the dignity that he once had

Happy childhood memories aren’t erased

(Even though I might feel he’s been replaced)

He might be old and frail and sad, but underneath it all, he’s still my Dad