Chore Of Love

I was sent out here to do this one thing,
But I wonder what reward it will bring.
I asked my father to settle the dept with some cash,
Or was this my punishment instead of the lash.
All I see is a big pile that I could not see above,
And hands sweating from these leather gloves.
Leaves upon leaves too many to count at one time,
Why should I have to work, this should be a crime.
Slowly the pile grows thicker and tall by the hour,
And this duty that was suppose to be sweet, is rather sour.
My father walked up to me and smiled, then walked away,
I yelled at him hoping he would come back my way.
He just smiled and said you are not done,
I just shook my head and wondered if I was really his son.
My hands hurt from these splinters in this rake,
Oh where God, did I make this mistake.
my back hurts and I smell like hell,
I would give my best bike to hear a school bell.
anything to just let me be rid of this thing they call a chore,
For I had my fill of it, I do not want more.
“Son you have done what I said and you did damn good,
for I had faith in you even so, I knew you could.”
“My gift to you not just cash you can buy something that suites your need,
but it’s also an action that shall be a seed.”
”I love you and this you may not really understand,
but come to me and take my hand.”
I took his hand with a mystery lurking in my brain,
and he held me high above him with little strain.
Then he smiled so big I could sense his joy,
then I felt free as I was thrown like a toy.
I landed in that bed of leaves that I worked so hard to build,
and then my dad said now you have the rest of that field.
I stared out at five acres of open grass,
and I said no thanks, I would pass.
He smiled and jumped right in beside me,
then tickled me until I had to pee.
We laughed and played in those leaves for almost a day,
but the true thing was, he loved me in his own way.

Written By
Robert Lee Niswander
Copyright 2004