Dear George

George Washington, the father of our land,
Everything he did always seemed so grand.

In 1775 he fought and won the Battle of Bunker Hill,
The echo you can hear still.

In 1777 at Valley Forge where he and his soldiers spent,
Was very cold and hard but their will power couldn't be bent.

As president he was fine,
Everything seemed to fall in line.

Years ago I was told that George would rather cry,
Then to tell a little lie.

One thing got me up a stump,
And brings to my throat a lump.

His father said, "Who cut down the tree," spitting out a pit
George looked up and loud and clear said, "Popeye did it."

*****

I missed my deadline because I was just too tired yesterday to turn the computer on. So at this point I wrap up the prose and poems that my Dad wrote. What does it prove?

It's just another way of pointing out that we all have observations and lessons from the life we have lived inside us if we will take the time to get them out. And every voice out there has something important to say.

Many people just need a little help. I've been wanting to make Dad's writing available for over 25 years. So in conclusion, all I can think of to say is: "Pop, I did it."

PS: Happy Birthday, Mom. I think of you every day. Born April 4, 1905.