love is the whole

To the man who slipped little poems into my lunches, even when I was student teaching...

Who was out spraying on the tractor in the middle of the night and came to wake me up so I could see the multitudes of fireflies lighting up the woods by the pond...

Who cut my meat for me until the day I was married...

Who played lullabies on his trumpet for his children...

Who burp-danced my colicky baby tummy...

Who picked me a little bouquet of sweet seringa on the morning of a big regents exam...

Happy Father's Day. I love you!

joy was his song and joy so pure

a heart of star by him could steer

and pure so now and now so yes

the wrists of twilight would rejoice...

(and every child was sure that spring

danced when she heard my father sing)...

because my father lived his soul

love is the whole and more than all

-ee cummings