Each day when he came home from work
Mom would tell him of our sins.
She’d have him mete the punishment
before his needed rest begins.
But bless his soul we all would know
his belt would never touch our skin.
He’d signal us when we should cry
and we would gladly raise a din.
The passions that he showed to us
was not was not a hug or kiss.
‘Twas smile or scowl within his eyes
when acts excelled or were remiss.
And, when I left to fight a war
and knew not where next home would be,
he looked me in the eyes and said,
“A home resides in reverie.”
