Eulogy for my father

A poem written for the end of my dad's eulogy. It' feeds from my childhood memories of him playing the guitar. Then touches upon the monster cancer which devoured the strongest man I knew.

Infants eyes watch fathers fingers pluck a tune so sweet,

His calloused hands sing us gently off to sleep,

The bitterest songs couldn’t hide the love behind his eyes,

But even then he realised.

His knotted fingers match the wood, tips caress age worn spruce,

Rhythm tolling out his years, melody flowing through joy to tears,

But living flesh wears worse than wood, but I’ll recall his voice that soothed,

But no more, it’s past, he’s gone.

His voice is silent there’ll be no more songs.