My Great Grandfather George Bowles' Story

under construction

Poem written for her father, George Bowles, by Georgina when they were living in Lindsay, Ontario probably about a year before his death:

To Father

Father's hair is getting thin,

his teeth are old and few.

But somehow you forget these things,

when he smiles at you.

You only see the crinkle,

beside those kind grey eyes.

You only feel the loving,

That his smile implies.

When he comes in to dinner,

and we all sit around,

the hour bright with chatter,

new interests we have found.

He lets us do the talking,

in our impetuous way,

until we have all finished,

then he has his say.

He stands for all the better things,

that make our little sphere,

home, honour and security,

our hearts, shall never fear.

What matters though depressions on,

or if the bank should break,

we have no fear, when father's near,

he is our one big stake.