Me, my Son and Pop

Often I dreamt of meeting my father under the boughs
of an old gnarled oak.
We would sit, talk things over, often disagreeing.

Perhaps he was trying to make up for leaving;
I was still young when he left. Looking back I'��m glad
he did, sad to say, but the truth will out, and there'��s no point trying to lie.

He told me of things he regretted, I understand now
and I'��m glad I can say that. I won'��t stand in
judgement of the "��Old man,"�� he is perfectly capable of doing that himself.

I'��m getting on now and I'��ve tried to be a good father. I'��ve
told my sons about their Grandad and of course about the
tree, so if they ever want to talk things over, that'��s where me and pop will be.

R