I was 5 when my dad died…
And I was sad…for I knew him not.
No golden memories of man and child…
No playing together in the garden plot.

Whenever I other boys espied
Engaged in their dad’s company…
I was so sad…I often cried…
To be bereft of paternity.

Until one day a boy I met…
So badly bruised and greatly sore…
That I for him began to fret,
And I could not his plight ignore.

He asked me calmly why I cried…
I asked him why so hurt was he.
He told me that because he’d lied…
His dad had beaten him savagely.

Thenceforth…I held another view…
Quite different from the first I had;
That my own dad I never knew…
Thereto…I was no longer sad.