You are a quiet presence
Just like my own father
Yet you speak volumes
Whilst my father did not
But I loved him, all the same.
He never held me
Like you hold me
I never felt his kiss on my cheek
Like the breath of your spirit,
Upon my tender skin.
When I played on the floor
He never knelt to share and guide
It is me who kneels
In praise and humility to you
To the Father who remains.
He carried his burdens and troubles alone,
From childhood to man with poor health.
Would it have been different
If he had committed to you?
The one Father, and not
The one by birth,
Who betrayed him, and
Left him a quiet man.

Thank you now; oh wonderful God
Who speaks to me in volumes.
That I remember my father
As a gentle man, who laboured hard,
To provide for his children
Despite the weakness he felt.
He never read to me, but
Bought me three books;
The Children of the New Forest,
Kidnapped and best of all
A beautifully illustrated Children’s Bible
I loved it, but I didn’t treasure it, but
I treasured him.
The quiet man in the chair
Sitting in silence; but
What is treasure?
Is it riches, or is it
Being richly blessed?
You are my treasure Lord
You are all I need, and
The memory of my father.