I always loved sitting on my dad’s shoulders when I was little – high up and safe!
Sitting on my father’s shoulders;
Smiling oh so secretly,
Watching leaves curl up the roadside,
feeling the soothing southern breeze.
I felt content upon those shoulders,
I felt so safe so confident,
For I was safe and so sure of all things,
That this was time so well spent.
My father, a man so rugged,
With crystal eyes he shone at me.
And he would smile and I would blossom,
For on his shoulders I would be.
Yet time is cold, Its pathways hardened ,
And age has left its bitter stain.
The man I knew has left me standing,
By an open dampened grave.
He left me yet he’s with me still;
Those memories they never die;
I take them all and wrap them round me,
Even though they make me cry.
And now I am a father myself,
And on my shoulders my daughter sits,
I hear her laugh with fruity candour;
And I know just what she thinks.
For sitting on my fathers shoulders,
I thought that I could see the world,
That I could see more than he could wonder;
I did not know that he did know.
Because its not the view that matters,
It’s the person that hold you up.
And as my father stopped me falling,
I stop her falling just as much.
We need each other on this journey,
We cannot do it all alone.
And the view we see is shared in glory,
Held up by others…we’re not alone…