– Walid Tarraf

A father’s hands,
They ache, they shake 

Midnight cramps, 
With screams, he wakes.  

Another day,
The morning brakes.  

Uneven footfalls with shakes, 
he makes,  

A new labor, a new chore,
With everything done, 
he’ll always find more.  

A husband to one,
A father two sons, 
A grandfather more,  

One day we will reach for his labor,
and find it no more.
The thing we will miss, 
is his smile at the door.