I wish my Dad was here with me
to see my roses bloom
I wish once more to hold his hand
and to show him around this room
If only he could sit with me
Instead of being in Heaven
I would talk to him of gardening
My children, books and weather.
It gets a little easier
as time begins to pass
the tears they flow less frequently
but not within my heart
Because still when I look to the sky
and see the winter clouds
I long to hold my Fathers hand
and talk to him of flowers.