The Gift

It came from your father,
It was all he had to give.
So it's yours to use and cherish,
As long as you may live.

If you lose the watch he gave you,
It can always be replaced,
But a black mark on your name son,
Can never be erased.

It was clean the day you took it,
And a worthy name to bear.
When I got it from my father,
There was no dishonor there.

So make sure you guard it wisely,
For after all is said and done,
You'll be glad the name is spotless,
When you give it to your son.

by Catherine Ruedy

Other poems of CATHERINE RUEDY (5)

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