My Father's Room

I saw a picture in my father’s room,
tucked away in a worn paper box.
It was of him and my mother,
holding hands.

They were young too.
My mother a beauty in her violet blouse,
and my father in an old T-shirt.
They smiled.

As I sat,
wondering who the photographer was,
my Father came home,
and asked me to mow the grass.

poem by Christopher Parsons
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!