FATHER WAS A SAWMILL MAN
fatherís skin was rough as leather,
From dawn to dusk he toiled each day;
In sun and rain and freezing weather
He labored long for little pay.
He trod the trail of a sawmill man,
In overalls and dusty shoes;
No fancy duds were in his plan,
No silken ties or navy blues.
He raised nine kids with no regret,
But faced each day with grit and pride;
He kept the faith when trials beset,
And prayed that God would help provide.
Took all he had to get us grown,
Complaining not about the grind;
No other man that I've since known
Has been as loving or as kind.
My father's days of work are o'er;
At last he's found a place of rest.
Where toil and strife will be no more,
In pure white garments he is dressed.
© 1996 Ruth Gillis~
Father Was A Sawmill Man" received a First
in the September
1996 issue of Chicken Soup,
and a First Place Award in the May/June 1997
of Poets at Work.
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