~•~
It's not always a man,
not a parent bound by blood.
It's not always one who talks,
or one who shows their love.
It's not always the plant that bore
the seed before it blew.
It's not always the one who pays
for all you wish to do.

At times it may differ,
it will be the one who loves
but hides it all inside the head,
smiles silently from above.

Like those who give their everything
with nothing in return.
Those that see the suffering,
the pain, the laugh and mirth.

Rejoice in your happiness,
though seldom let it show.
Maybe not as bright a lamp,
but with a stable glow.

Like an ancient oak that stands tall,
as trellis to ivy vines.
They let the little ones absorb
their knowledge or their life.

Like the air that flows around,
invisible to the eyes.
It lets you keep your ego
though it's always by your side.

Like the simple chipped out pillar that
holds the archaic ceiling high,
for the beautiful carvings full of pride
they allow themselves to hide.

It's those who don't need bonds of blood
to protect and to repair.
It's those who stand by silent
but don't withdraw their care.
It's the tree that takes the harsh sun rays
for the seed so far from home.
It's the father who won't always show
but always will be there.
~•~

A/N: So Father's Day happened and my dad has been very ill lately. I hadn't seen him for a whole month until a few days before father's day, on my birthday. So I wrote him a poem. I hope you enjoy it 😊