As a child I loved my father dear
And went with him on walks into the park.
I felt great love and not a mite of fear
.His presence helped me in the night so dark
I never understood that he was ill
As little children do not think to ask.
and though he moaned and asked the nurse for pills
I did not know he faced his life’s last task
And so one morning we are told he’s fled.
He’s gone to heaven where he’ll feel no pain.
In solemn voice, the priests bless him now dead
I know I must be wicked and to blame.
Please let little children talk and grieve
When parents are blown down like autumn leaves