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Judy Small
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Song of My Father
This is the song I waited thirty years to write
It fades and it focuses like shadows in my sight
It's a song that was ended on a rainy summer night
This is the song of my father
There are times when I cannot
recall the colour of his eyes
Times when I remember him as clear as summer skies
There are times I think my memories of him are only lies
This is the song of my father.
This is the song of my father that I've never sung before
Though he lives in every part of me in every living pore
It's more than thirty years ago he died
I've never missed him more
This is the song of my father.
My father was a journalist
he made the language breathe
And his love of words and wisdom
is what he passed onto me
I hear him in my es and in my harmony
This is the song of my father
He was a gentle and an honest man
his friends all loved him well
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Though he never was a saint
from tales my mother used to tell
There are tiimes when I hear him \
Just as clear as any bell
This is the song of my father.
He died when I was fourteen
he never saw me grow
He never knew the woman
that my friends have come to know
But he remains forever as he was that
rainy night
When I held his hand and promised to be good.
He gave me strength and laughter
though he often was in pain
I hear him chuckle softly wen I wrote a clever line
I wonder what he'd think of me if he could know my mind
This is the song of my father
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