Rag-a-Muffins

A Fathers Day Poem

Today they say; that, I… that, I
Was never around much and such
My heart it slowly sinks down, down
Into what is left of these dear hearts

I knew better and yet still
I did feel that they were right

They were just and to young
To remember, my babies, our lives

So tender and so tendered they were
Forget about, my new budget of time
And I would have to say they were right

If only I could bend this weary mind of mine, If only

They can’t recall within them, all of the time I spent
The millions of hugs and kisses exchanged
This bankers only Heaven I can not rearrange
Notes; not one of them, was even seven yet

The dancing done in our halls
The shopping in the malls
Nights spent up, when they were ill
Their refusals to swallow the whole pill

Not to mention the mixing of formulas
A chemist I became and a garbage man too
I had become, the mountains of smelly diapers
And I the family’s Major General of bottom wipers

They forget how they had fallen for me, fast and asleep
And when that their dad was cool, sweet, and neat
The bread winner then the full course, a bum today
Divorced; oh how the times, they do sway my little sheep

In these their daddy’s arms, they would all fall, to weep
When mommy said no or a simple frustration instead did creep

Their bumps and bruises mended and all kissed; and now
I receive the cuts without band-aides, and with no amends

But, even so and though they… they are all puffed up
They all still play; within my mind, each and every day
As I remember them, their buggered noses, booger-ed up

And those wiggling toes my little Rag-a-Muffins they’ll stay

Puffed up today by what they were told, to believe
By one wounded soul or another; both did, but bled
But yet, I’ll blame their mother or any other deceived
For time has sold them, all three, and even me

This fruit has fallen far from its tree

But always and forever more
I will seek these memories sore 

For sown into these memoirs of mine they soar

Kay, Kay is only nine months old, he is the youngest one
And my Curly Top who refused to stop until she’d drop
She is only eighteen months and still a little dream
Daddy’s little man is only five years young and on the run

Jake is his name he was always the first one to go to sleep
The big brother and aide to his mother
 I wouldn’t have desired any other

He so loved his baby brother and sister way back then

As time tore away, at sweeping and weeping sores
Daddy became a bore and a chore, so little time was spent
His children no longer sent, until one day
In no time at all, did not any one of them come to call

The quiet years brought many tears
Where is God in this, their old man mutter
And yet not one word of Pray did he ever utter
Until one day the fear raged and tears, they flew

On failing knees bent he, and recalled the Muffins sent
The stolen little ones whose time brought such joy
One daughter and two true blue boys

There bed time stories and prays replayed

Daddy’s Rag-a-Muffins never once forgot
To mention him there in their prays
On their bended knees they’d pray
While down on the ground was he

He whispers a little prayer, that they’d all pray

God bless mommy and daddy and we three
The Old man began to state his  final plea
Lord I am a fool, a hard headed man and dreaded

Please change this old soul this Ole soul of mine
Bless your son and me too, for I am so blue
A sinner undone I must be one of yours, who was lost
I now make your son my boss

Oh my Lord I will mind

Chase me around your house no longer
And let us sing and dance with praise
Return me to all, to whom I am lost this day
In Jesus name I pray;… Amen

As the man stands and gets to his feet
There came a small tapping at the silent door
He could not believe his ears was this his door?
The tapping brought a rush of tears and fears

Quickly he proceeded to the door
When opened it, he did a crowd rushed in

Three Rag-A-Muffins per each set
His muffins have all come home in sets

And not a single one of them, was there alone
All soundly married with three Rag-a-Muffins of their own
They came to wish there, their old man a happy Fathers Day
His fifty-sixth, and his best one yet!

 A thought by Sinbad the Sailor Man