Poetry : To Be A Busy Doctor's Son
I wrote this poem back in 1998, still a child of nine. Felt like a good piece to kick off my blog.
To Be A Busy Doctor’s Son
To be a busy doctor’s son
Is not always a lot of fun
Work starts at dawn, ends late at night
I’ll be in slumber when he’s home tonight.
When bags are packed for a trip to go
There’s the emergency, so…
The plans we had, go down the drain
Being a doctor’s son can be quite a pain.
Weekends are time to play,
Swim, dance, go out and sway,
But never that weekend have we had
When there hasn’t been that call for dad…
That pulls him out of all the fun
He had been planning with this son.
And as the day turns in to night
I look forward to the next morning, bright.
With a hope to spend a couple of hours
Before his time, his work devours.
It may not be so harsh at times
I do miss him telling me those rhymes
But he’s out there always saving lives
Fixing up hearts with his array of knives
Yet in my heart, I always know –
Dad, will always have to go, and
Tend to an ailing heart somewhere.
Yet, I know, he still cares.
And even though I see him less,
My Love for him will never regress.