Days with Family

I have been meaning to add this poem I wrote for dad's birthday. It's below:

Sometimes my dad thinks he's got it bad,
He dreams of the spunk he had as a lad,
His knees aren't as limber
Every breath is much thinner
He longs for the days when neither would hinder
His pace has slowed and his hair has dimmed
from the carrot-top cap of his early years.

His eyes don't see all he used to see,
and he's always just heard what he thinks he needs.
He can't quite keep up with the grandkids speed
and he loses his wind when he tries to be
all the things 90 full years will bring.

But Dad forgets all the things he's got,
a home of his own and a wife who is smart,
home-cooked meals, and a lifetime of friends,
generations apart that make memories span,
ages and stories that are heard first-hand
as he tells a long tale that still brings a twinkle,
and children who love to join him with giggles
Time and attention and love of good books
music that brings out a dance step or croon
Grandkids who come back to visit and stay
loving the land he and his father saved.

It's decades of love and affection and time
that has given my dad no reason to whine,
as he ages, he's earned his aching and wrinkles
as badges of living a life full of issues.
It's life without reason that is one to regret,
Not one full of blessings, one that will long-last
in the hearts of the family and friends he has touched.
Full of love, faith and hope that one day we'll be such
a good feeler, and mentor and granddad and aunt
to a new generation, all because of our Dad.