Sundays in Winter

Every sunday in winter
he would wake
and put on his Carhartt
to go shovel the driveway
after 10 hour days
spent through the week
clearing the roads
Nobody thanked him.

He’d come in from the cold
throw coal in the furnace
make sure his family was warm
He’d start breakfast—
sausage gravy
Nobody thanked him.

I watch him now
his aging hands
peeling an apple
for someone else to eat
never says “I’m too tired”
or complains.
He still teaches us—
my brother and me
and everyone who knows him
how to remain soft in a hard world
and the beauty of undying love—
a father’s love
Thank you, dad!

This entry was posted in Lessons, Love, Poetry and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

11 Responses to Sundays in Winter

  1. francisashis says:

    Happy Father’s Day to your beloved Dad.Take care.🌹🙏

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Sadje says:

    Such a lovely tribute Kristian

    Liked by 1 person

  3. this brought tears to my eyes, so beautiful and a lovely tribute to your Dad.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Brad Osborne says:

    Beautiful and moving!

    Liked by 1 person

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