Examples Of Narrative Poems - Page 3

Mama's Christmas Miracle
- By Kathy J. Parenteau
- Published by Family Friend Poems November 2011 with permission of the Author.
My mother means the world to me. She is fighting for her life because she has cancer. I wanted to honor her with this poem. She came from poverty beyond what most could imagine. When she was a little girl she wrote a letter to Santa. She didn't use postage. She just placed it in the mailbox. The mail man read the letter and got together with a local church to make mom's dream come true. Her dad was a very proud man that would not except charity, however, this one time he graciously accepted.

in Christmas Poems

Mama told me a story a long, long time ago, not like any that I'd ever heard,
all about a little girl mama used to know, how I remember every word.
Seems like a lifetime ago, though I remember it so well.
It was a Christmas Eve I'll never forget as far as I can tell.

Mama told me a story a long, long time ago, not like any that I'd ever heard,
all about a little girl mama used to know, how I remember every word.
Seems like a lifetime ago, though I remember it so well.
It was a Christmas Eve I'll never forget as far as I can tell.
We were sitting at the kitchen table, it was only my mother and me.
I was dreaming of Christmas morning and all the presents under the tree.
Dad wasn't doing that well and money was scarce that year.
Mama found a way of telling me without me shedding one tear.
She told me a story of a little girl and a Christmas long ago,
who came from far away, a place where it rarely snowed.
Santa was just a dream to her, but she believed so much inside,
that Christmas was going to be special, so she knelt by her bed and she cried.
"Lord, let Santa remember me if not just this one time.
I promise I won't ask for much, maybe a dolly I can call all mine."
She closed her prayer and thanked the Lord for all that she received.
She knew that Santa would really come if only she believed.
She wrote a letter to Santa, unfamiliar to most girls and boys.
Though her list was long and full, on it there were no toys.
Only things we take for granted, like new shoes or underpants,
hair bows for her sisters and gloves to warm her brothers' hands.
At the bottom of her list she asked, if it not be too much,
for a brand new baby doll she could hold and love and touch.
Then Christmas morning came and she looked beneath her tree,
Not a present to be found as far as she could see.
She didn't give up hope as she heard a knocking sound.
When she opened up her door, a great big box she found.
She called out to her mother and dad, brothers and sisters too,
She said, "My prayers were answered, there's something in here for all of you."
Her daddy got brand new boots, her mother new underpants, her sisters got beautiful hair bows, her brothers warm gloves for their hands.
Buried deep beneath the box was a brand new baby doll and a note that said, "Merry Christmas, I love you one and all."
I'll never forget that story because much to my surprise,
I saw the true meaning of Christmas shining in my mother's eyes.
For those of you who are wondering, as if you didn't know,
The little girl in Mama's story was my mother long ago.

This poem is about a childhood memory I will never forget. God bless all the mothers in this world, and may all your Christmases be ones to remember.
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The Man He Killed
- By Thomas Hardy
Famous Poem

How terrible is war? You might meet someone and kill them in war, but if you had met that same person in peace, you might have been friends and even bought him a drink or given him some money.

in Famous Narrative Poems

Had he and I but met
By some old ancient inn,
We should have set us down to wet
Right many a nipperkin!

Had he and I but met
By some old ancient inn,
We should have set us down to wet
Right many a nipperkin!

But ranged as infantry,
And staring face to face,
I shot at him as he at me,
And killed him in his place.

I shot him dead because--
Because he was my foe,
Just so: my foe of course he was;
That's clear enough; although

He thought he'd 'list, perhaps,
Off-hand like--just as I--
Was out of work--had sold his traps--
No other reason why.

Yes; quaint and curious war is!
You shoot a fellow down
You'd treat, if met where any bar is,
Or help to half a crown.
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A Boy Named Sue
- By Shel Silverstein
Famous Poem

"A Boy Named Sue" is a poem by Shel Silverstein that has been made popular by Johnny Cash. Cash was at the height of his popularity when he recorded the song live at California's San Quentin State Prison at a concert on February 24, 1969. The concert was filmed by Granada Television for later television broadcast. The audio of the concert was later released on Cash's At San Quentin album. Cash also performed the song (with comical variations on the original performance) in December 1969 at Madison Square Garden.

in Famous Funny Poems

Well, my daddy left home when I was three,
and he didn't leave much to Ma and me,
just this old guitar and a bottle of booze.
Now I don't blame him because he run and hid,

Well, my daddy left home when I was three,
and he didn't leave much to Ma and me,
just this old guitar and a bottle of booze.
Now I don't blame him because he run and hid,
but the meanest thing that he ever did was
before he left he went and named me Sue.

Well, he must have thought it was quite a joke,
and it got lots of laughs from a lot of folks,
it seems I had to fight my whole life through.
Some gal would giggle and I'd get red
and some guy would laugh and I'd bust his head,
I tell you, life ain't easy for a boy named Sue.

Well, I grew up quick and I grew up mean.
My fist got hard and my wits got keen.
Roamed from town to town to hide my shame,
but I made me a vow to the moon and the stars,
I'd search the honky tonks and bars and kill
that man that gave me that awful name.

But it was Gatlinburg in mid July and I had
just hit town and my throat was dry.
I'd thought i'd stop and have myself a brew.
At an old saloon in a street of mud
and at a table dealing stud sat the dirty,
mangy dog that named me Sue.

Well, I knew that snake was my own sweet dad
from a worn-out picture that my mother had
and I knew the scar on his cheek and his evil eye.
He was big and bent and gray and old
and I looked at him and my blood ran cold,
and I said, "My name is Sue. How do you do?
Now you're gonna die." Yeah, that's what I told him.

Well, I hit him right between the eyes and he went down
but to my surprise he came up with a knife
and cut off a piece of my ear. But I busted a chair
right across his teeth. And we crashed through
the wall and into the street kicking and a-gouging
in the mud and the blood and the beer.

I tell you I've fought tougher men but I really can't remember when.
He kicked like a mule and bit like a crocodile.
I heard him laughin' and then I heard him cussin',
he went for his gun and I pulled mine first.
He stood there looking at me and I saw him smile.

And he said, "Son, this world is rough and if
a man's gonna make it, he's gotta be tough
and I knew I wouldn't be there to help you along.
So I gave you that name and I said 'Goodbye'.
I knew you'd have to get tough or die. And it's
that name that helped to make you strong."

Yeah, he said, "Now you have just fought one
helluva fight, and I know you hate me and you've
got the right to kill me now and I wouldn't blame you
if you do. But you ought to thank me
before I die for the gravel in your guts and the spit
in your eye because I'm the guy that named you Sue."
Yeah, what could I do? What could I do?

I got all choked up and I threw down my gun,
called him pa and he called me a son,
and I came away with a different point of view
and I think about him now and then.
Every time I tried, every time I win and if I
ever have a son I think I am gonna name him
Bill or George - anything but Sue.
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Song About Old Troll
- By J. R. R. Tolkien
Famous Poem

J. R. R. Tolkien is famous for his fantasy novels The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings. This poem was sung by Sam Gamgee in The Lord of the Rings. Audio clips can be found of J. R. R. Tolkien singing this song himself.

in Famous Narrative Poems

Troll sat alone on his seat of stone,
And munched and mumbled a bare old bone;
For many a year he had gnawed it near,
For meat was hard to come by.

Troll sat alone on his seat of stone,
And munched and mumbled a bare old bone;
For many a year he had gnawed it near,
For meat was hard to come by.
Done by! Gum by!
In a cave in the hills he dwelt alone,
And meat was hard to come by.

Up came Tom with his big boots on.
Said he to Troll: "Pray, what is yon?
For it looks like the shin o' my nuncle Tim,
As should be a-lyin' in graveyard.
Caveyard! Paveyard!
This many a year has Tim been gone,
And I thought he were lyin' in graveyard."

"My lad," said Troll, "this bone I stole.
But what be bones that lie in a hole?
Thy nuncle was dead as a lump o' lead,
Afore I found his shinbone.
Tinbone! Thinbone!
He can spare a share for a poor old troll,
For he don't need his shinbone."

Said Tom: "I don't see why the likes o' thee
Without axin' leave should go makin' free
With the shank or the shin o' my father's kin;
So hand the old bone over!
Rover! Trover!
Though dead he be, it belongs to he;
So hand the old bone over!"

"For a couple o' pins," says Troll, and grins,
"I'll eat thee too, and gnaw thy shins.
A bit o' fresh meat will go down sweet!
I'll try my teeth on thee now.*
Hee now! See now!
I'm tired o' gnawing old bones and skins;
I've a mind to dine on thee now."

*[as read by Tolkien on the tape:]
Thee'll be a nice change from thine nuncle.
Sunkle! Drunkle!
I'm tired of gnawing old bones and skins;
Thee'll be a nice change from thine nuncle."

But just as he thought his dinner was caught,
He found his hands had hold of naught.
Before he could mind, Tom slipped behind
And gave him the boot to larn him.
Warn him! Darn him!
A bump o' the boot on the seat, Tom thought,
Would be the way to larn him.

But harder than stone is the flesh and bone
Of a troll that sits in the hills alone.
As well set your boot to the mountain's root,
For the seat of a troll don't feel it.
Peel it! Heal it!
Old Troll laughed, when he heard Tom groan,
And he knew his toes could feel it.

Tom's leg is game, since home he came,
And his bootless foot is lasting lame;
But Troll don't care, and he's still there
With the bone he boned from it's owner.
Doner! Boner!
Troll's old seat is still the same,
And the bone he boned from its owner!
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Annabel Lee
- By Edgar Allan Poe
Famous Poem

Annabel Lee was the last poem written by Poe. Like many of Poe's poems, this one is about lost love. It was published in 1849 shortly after his death. The subject mourns the death of his young love, Annabel Lee, and blames the angels for killing her out of jealousy for their love. He has since then slept by her grave, unable to accept her death.
Edgar Allan Poe once said that the death of a beautiful woman is "the most poetical topic in the world". In this poem, the subject's lover, Annabel Lee was killed. The subject of the poem affirms that the love between him and Annabel Lee is so strong that even death can't separate them.

in Famous Narrative Poems

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
I and my Annabel Lee—
With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we—
Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in Heaven above
Nor the demons down under the sea
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea—
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

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The Littlest Christmas Tree
- By Amy Peterson
- Published by Family Friend Poems April 2009 with permission of the Author.
Hello everyone. I was raised in Wisconsin among many cold winters and driven to writing by two great, wonderful parents whose imagination left all of their children wide-eyed with excitement during the holidays. I was told by my father that the pines talk when the wind blows....and if you listen...you can hear them. I hope this story will leave your family with an adventure into the woods to hear the pines talking.

A Christmas Story For Children

in Christmas Poems

The littlest Christmas tree
lived in a meadow of green
among a family
of tall evergreens.

The littlest Christmas tree
lived in a meadow of green
among a family
of tall evergreens.
He learned how to whisper
the evergreen song
with the slightest of wind
that came gently along.

He watched as the birds
made a home out of twigs
and couldn't wait till
he, too, was big.
For all of the trees
offered a home,
the maple, the pine, and the oak,
who's so strong.

"I hate being little,"
the little tree said,
"I can't even turn colors
like the maple turns red.
I can't help the animals
like the mighty old oak.
He shelters them all
in his wide mighty cloak."

The older tree said,
"Why, little tree, you don't know?
The story of a mighty king
from the land with no snow?"
Little tree questioned,
"A land with no snow?"
"Yes!" said old tree,
"A very old story,
from so long ago."

"A star appeared,
giving great light
over a manger
on long winter's night.
A baby was born,
a king of all kings,
and with him comes love
over all things."

"He lived in a country
all covered in sand,
and laid down his life
to save all of man."

Little tree thought of the gift
given by him,
then the big tree said with the
happiest grin,
"We're not just trees,
but a reminder of that day.
There's a much bigger part
of a role that we play!"

"For on Christmas Eve,
my life I'll lay down,
in exchange for a happier,
loving ground.
And as I stand dying,
they'll adorn me in trim.
This all will be done
in memory of him."

"Among a warm fire,
with family and friends,
in the sweet songs of Christmas,
I'll find my great end.
Then ever so gently,
He'll come down to see
and take me to heaven,
Jesus and me."

"So you see, little tree,
we are not like the oak
who shelters all things
beneath his great cloak.
Nor are we like the maple
in fall,
whose colors leave many
standing in awe."

"The gift that we give
is ourselves, limb for limb,
the greatest of honor,
in memory of him."

The little tree bowed
his head down and cried
and thought of the king
who willingly died.
For what kind of gift
can anyone give
than to lay down your life
when you wanted to live?

A swelling of pride
came over the tree.
Can all of this happen
Because of just me?
Can I really bring honor?
By adorning a home?
By reminding mankind
that he's never alone?

With this thought, little tree
began singing with glee.
Happy and proud
to be a true Christmas tree.

You can still hear them singing
even the smallest in height,
singing of Christmas
and that one holy night.
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Yaz And Orr
- By Ronald Doe
- Published by Family Friend Poems January 2009 with permission of the Author.
One of my most heartfelt and favorite poems despite the sadness involved in it. Yaz and Orr were our childhood sport heroes. Yaz was a Boston Red Sox player whose real name is Carl Yastremski and Orr is Bobby Orr who was the greatest hockey player ever. Both are still Boston icons and in the Hall of Fame of their respective sports.

Heartfelt Poem About Brothers Growing Up And Apart

in Brother Poems

My brother was always my best friend,
We would play sports and we'd just pretend.
I'd hit a homer, a goal he'd score,
You see I was Yaz and he was Orr.

My brother was always my best friend,
We would play sports and we'd just pretend.
I'd hit a homer, a goal he'd score,
You see I was Yaz and he was Orr.

As we grew up in The Project Courts,
Nothing mattered except for sports.
We never once thought about a girl,
As we lived in our fantasy world.

For in the courtyard in which we'd play,
The next Bobby Orr would proudly say.
"Ronnie, someday when I'm all grown up,
I'll help The B's win The Stanley Cup.

Score the winning goal in the last game,
And all of Boston will chant my name.
But till that day comes I guess once more,
You can be Yaz and I will be Orr."

Butchie and I played hockey for fun,
And we weren't out to hurt anyone.
But then came drugs, fast money and girls,
And playing sports wasn't in this world.

Because as the years went flying by,
Butchie's goal was to be a Wise Guy.
With the new meaning of the word "score",
They'd be no more Yaz and no more Orr.

I saw Butchie in the project court,
Where we had played every single sport.
His eyes were bugged and his vision blurred,
And when he spoke his speech was slurred.

His face was pale, his expression blank,
He told me he was robbing a bank.
I said, "Butchie, what about poor Ma?
Her heart can't take another scar".

But the madness in my brother's eyes,
Brought out the sadness in my cries.
For there was hatred not seen before,
Back when I was Yaz and he was Orr.

And on the day he was sent to jail,
I had a vision that seemed so real.
I pictured him on a breakaway,
I saw him wink and I heard him say.

"Ronnie, someday when I'm all grown up,
I'll help The B's win The Stanley Cup.
Score the winning goal in the last game,
And all of Boston will chant my name".

As fate would have it, it was his name,
That truly was Butchie's claim to fame.
But in my heart I just wish once more,
I could be Yaz and he could be Orr.
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The Strongest Girl I Ever Knew
- By Ronald Doe
- Published by Family Friend Poems January 2009 with permission of the Author.
My sister Kelly was paralyzed when she was 16. For the next 25 years she was totally dependent on others. Even though she got dealt a bad hand, she remained strong and dignified throughout her life. That is why she'll always be "The Strongest Girl I Ever Knew." Kelly, I know you're dancing in Heaven.
In Loving Memory of Kelly Doe

Inspirational Poem About Disabled Sister

in Inspirational Poems

She never got to dance
Or go to her own prom.
She never got the chance
To forget where she came from.

She never got to dance
Or go to her own prom.
She never got the chance
To forget where she came from.

She never got to kiss,
A man she idolized.
She never felt love's bliss,
'Cause she was paralyzed.

She never got to talk
About love with a smile.
She never got to walk
Down a church's aisle.

She never got to say
Those precious words, "I Do."
But she was far and away
The strongest girl I ever knew.

She couldn't brush her hair
Or put make up on her face.
She couldn't hold you dear
Or give you a warm embrace.

She couldn't clasp her hands
As if in the form of prayer.
She couldn't understand
Why she was in a wheelchair.

She never showed her fears
Or let you hear her cries.
She never showed the tears
That fell down from her eyes.

She never looked for pity
Or sympathy from you.
That's why she'll always be
The strongest girl I ever knew.
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Heirloom Of Love
- By Angie
- Published by Family Friend Poems May 2008 with permission of the Author.
The mixed emotions of a father on his daughter's wedding day.

Mixed Emotions From The Father Of The Bride

in Wedding Poems

There she sits before her mirror,
Primping in excitement, her face flushed.
Today is her day; she will never know
How much I hurt, how scared I am

There she sits before her mirror,
Primping in excitement, her face flushed.
Today is her day; she will never know
How much I hurt, how scared I am
Of the void she will leave behind.

Will she forget me? I'll be replaced
By someone new, someone who makes her heart
Dance in her chest, a drumbeat.
Will he, can he protect her as I've done?
I have no choice but to trust...

I seethe with an almost-rage,
An unfounded, illogical jealousy, an anger
For what he is taking from me.
I am selfish. She is my joy, my life
I would die for her.

Today I will. A thousand times.

Then she turns to look at me.
In her beautiful face I see worry.
For me? She sees the unspilled tears
She knows. Of course, she knows.
She comes to me.

And with the smallest kiss, the subtle smile
All is well. She is still mine.
She will always be mine
In a different and wonderful way.
She is a part of me.

She will move on, she will give others joy,
And I am comforted knowing her goodness
Will be shared by everyone she touches,
And I am okay and proud, and I take her hand
To give her to her love, her new life.

I swell with almost unbearable pride
To have created something so perfect!
She was never mine to keep, this supreme being
Perfect to me. Shining, golden, priceless...
My heirloom of love.

And there he goes, that handsome, kind man
With his new bride, my daughter, my soul.
Does he know what has been passed to him?
He could not know, not yet,
But time will show him; he will realize.

Someday it will be his turn.
He will have to pass her essence on,
In his daughter, my granddaughter,
Our heirloom of love.
Will he weep? With loss, with anger?

Will he sit alone in his daughter's room
Filled with love and happiness...sadness?
No, content. A deep breath will help him stand
As I do now, and I walk with trembling lips
And chin held high. I leave this room.

I close the door.

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The Old Fella Out At Buck Creek
- By Gordon B. Melton
- Published by Family Friend Poems April 2008 with permission of the Author.
I am a 37-year-old volunteer firefighter, father of 4, and husband to a great wife. The gentleman I am writing about is an 89-year-old man who was in WWII and is still going strong. The poem came from my heart and is a great tribute to a very fine man. Dedicated to Clinton Woodley

in Creative Poems

There is an old fella out at Buck Creek
He's a little hard of hearing, so be loud when you speak
He's lived many years and has seen many things
He's as good as an angel but without the wings

There is an old fella out at Buck Creek
He's a little hard of hearing, so be loud when you speak
He's lived many years and has seen many things
He's as good as an angel but without the wings
Sit with him a while and many stories you will hear
Stories of the war, the drought, and to him things that are dear
His body looks feeble and a little weak
But watch him work and you will think he is at his peak
He goes to the pasture and gives his cattle some feed
Then he gets on his tractor and plows and plants some seed
When he is done, he looks around with a smile
Then he thanks God for letting him be around a while
He walks in his home, which he was born in
With never a frown, but only a grin
I visit with him as often as I can
For he is a very interesting man
When I talk to him, knowledge is what I seek
Because that's one heck of a fella out at Buck Creek
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Family Circle
- By Melissa G. Nicks
- Published by Family Friend Poems April 2006 with permission of the Author.
This poem is about the circle of life and the bittersweet realization of how time and life pass by so quickly.

Cycle Of Life Poem

in Father Poems

When I am born, you are here
In your eye, I see a tear
Time flies and already I'm two
"Look, Daddy, I can tie my shoe!"

When I am born, you are here
In your eye, I see a tear
Time flies and already I'm two
"Look, Daddy, I can tie my shoe!"

Before you know it, I'm five
Every day, you thank God I'm alive
Pretty soon, I turn eight
You tell me I'm never allowed to date

I'm already twelve in my preteen years
Which means you'll help me with all my new fears
Now fourteen with my permit to drive
Waiting to hit the big one-five

Too early comes sixteen, with my license now
It went by too fast, you just ask how

You want to meet my boyfriend when I'm eighteen
I pray to God that you're not too mean
The same guy two years later asks for my hand
I'm relieved when you say, that's just grand

About a year later, you walk me down the aisle
Through all the tears, you bare a smile
Three years later, you're gonna be a grandfather
You show love and pride for your new granddaughter

Another year down the road
Mom dies, oh the many tears that flowed
You're not doing so well without her
Less than a year later, you forgot all about her

Alzheimer's sets in and it scares me so
Not long after, you decide to go
Now I'm regretting not saying goodbye
Every time I think about it, I start to cry

The cycle has begun again
It has started over with little Megan
The other day, she turned two
And said, "Look, daddy, I can tie my shoe!"
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Wow! Words cannot describe the quality of this poem. It is touching and another thing is that it co-relates with life's reality. Thanks a lot and thumbs up for the great job!

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Blue
- By Brian A. Haycock
- Published by Family Friend Poems April 2006 with permission of the Author.
A father writes of a special relationship with his daughter who was born blind and at age sixteen was given the gift of sight. A father daughter bond strengthened by the gift of sight, a beautiful story.

Beautiful Narrative Poem About The Gift Of Sight

in Father Poems

She was born pink and soft with all of her toes
She had my eyes and her mothers nose
She cried for a moment and then settled down
The angel of my life with hair of brown

She was born pink and soft with all of her toes
She had my eyes and her mothers nose
She cried for a moment and then settled down
The angel of my life with hair of brown

Months went by and we watched her grow
Something was wrong and we had to know
The doctor called with concern on his mind
And told me my angel had been born blind

I cried for a while and then I got mad
This was not my idea of being a dad
So from that day forward I started a plight
To be her eyes in life and her heart of sight

As the years passed by she started to grow
Into a beautiful child with a need to know
Each day was spent teaching all that I knew
Until one day when she asked about blue

I tried to define it but my efforts were in vain
Only sighted descriptions were the way to explain
She had no way of knowing what I was trying to say
And for the very first time I failed her that day

Life went on and as she grew
She formed her thoughts on what is blue
Wanting to know just what others could see
Inside her mind it became reality

On her sixteenth birthday our lives got better
We received good new from a doctor's letter
He said he could help and that this just might
Give the eyes of my angel the gift of sight

I will never forget what she asked to see
When she opened her eyes and first saw me
She looked at me with her eyes of new
And asked me to show her the color of blue

I said, Look at my eyes, for they are blue
The day you were born they watched over you
All through the years they never looked away
They will always be with you and will never stray

She smiled at me and said that she always knew
About what the meaning was of the color blue
Through out her life she could always see
With the eyes of her heart instilled from me

To her the color had a meaning more than just sight
Blue had a feeling that gave her an insight
Throughout the years as both our hearts grew
She told me that Love was the color Blue
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Yeah, you're right that a father loves his daughter very much. Yes, the poem is very good.

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Examples Of Narrative Poems - Page 3

How terrible is war? You might meet someone and kill them in war, but if you had met that same person in peace, you might have been friends and even bought him a drink or given him some money.

J. R. R. Tolkien is famous for his fantasy novels The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings. This poem was sung by Sam Gamgee in The Lord of the Rings. Audio clips can be found of J. R. R. Tolkien singing this song himself.

The mixed emotions of a father on his daughter's wedding day.

I am a 37-year-old volunteer firefighter, father of 4, and husband to a great wife. The gentleman I am writing about is an 89-year-old man who was in WWII and is still going strong. The poem came from my heart and is a great tribute to a very fine man. Dedicated to Clinton Woodley

This poem is about the circle of life and the bittersweet realization of how time and life pass by so quickly.

A father writes of a special relationship with his daughter who was born blind and at age sixteen was given the gift of sight. A father daughter bond strengthened by the gift of sight, a beautiful story.