33. My Father

33.
My Father

My father was a father figure, what would you expect?
He walked tall and straight and proud, he stood up erect.
Then he died of cancer, when I was thirteen,
I cried that day, our family sat and spoke no word between.
My father ruled with an iron hand, 
he believed in right and wrong.
So do I, all life long I sing and sing his song.
My father, strangely, spoke few words, I am a man of many.
He was direct and to the point, you’d think he hadn’t any.
When you have nothing to say, say nothing, he said.
There aren’t many like him, now he’s dead.
Say what you mean, mean what you say, he said once, he never said things twice.
By and large, how shall I say, I miss his advice.