treasured relics

At great personal sacrifice
Though humbly borne
Most utterly humbly borne
Breaking down the man
Chipping away at all vice
To mould him into something more
Something so different and more
We had to get to know him again

The pain, the suffering, the inexplainable
Carving out the wicked temper
As it tempered his soul
Tempered it with pain and anguish
Regret, remorse, and repentance
Standing still—sitting still—lying still
In order to move forward
Enabled to stand taller than before

Clothespins and baskets to hold instead of hammers
Hope and a promise of purpose
And being needed more than ever
Still needed though his place
Seemed precarious after the many
Many years always
Having to stand on his own two feet
Supporting the world with his bare hands

Holding onto clothespins
With those hands
As if the world depended on it
Religiously fighting the good fight
Against the piles of clothes
And lost socks for days on end
My father showed us all how
Clothespins can be treasure when you love someone