On Discovering My Father's Poems Poem by Richard St. Clair

He called himself "F. Y." - a humble way
To signify his heartfelt poesy
In humble words for his small world to see,
Memorialized for all his mortal stay.
His sentiments, his winsome turns of phrase,
No pretense of a nobler literature,
Yet in my heart his rhyming will endure,
Indelibly an imprint of his days.
These little snapshots of a good life spent
Without an ego full of pompous stuff
Has satisfied my memory enough
To leave me filled with richness and content.
A parent with a complex mind was he,
Not 'greatness, ' his, but true humanity.