When I think of home in my childhood days,
I remember my daddy and his cool ways.
His quiet manner let his love shine through,
Every action seemed so easy to do.
 
 I loved it most during time to harvest,
 I waited all year for the month of August.
Upon his lap I would invariably climb, 
When he was driving the yellow columbine. 
 
Dad taught me to drive the team, 
I would pretend they were mine. 
Under my breath I would softly sing
A little ditty, while the reins I would entwine
 
No one could chase the troubles away,
Easier than my Dad who whistled all day.
He started the day with a tribute to the Lord,
I added mine with a prayer of my own accord.
 
Now my Daddy has been gone for many years,
God called him home and left me in tears.
But I know no matter what I will see him one day,
For he taught me how to live the right way.
 
© Carol G Oliver