That Man in Uniform
In his uniform, he stands fit & thin.
If you look real hard, you can see his grin.
He has taken form, shaped by the norm.
His spine tail to tip, he keeps straight & tall.
His mind is aligned, his strength will not fall.
He has studied & trained, he’s ready to sail.
His shoes wink at you, his work is worthy.
The waxy luster a polished clue
about all he’ll do, with pride & no bluster.
His belt buckle shines, sparkles at your eye.
He’s a sharp diamond, that’s truth & no lie.
A stone that will not give a sigh or a cry.
His hair’s cut so short, gives you the idea
that he finds his way each & every day
from many a snare, with greatest of care.
His pant leg creases, & the shirt sleeves too
shout out about order, that never ceases.
oh, yes, & the need, liberty releases.
The ribbon & ore, medals across chest,
they always attest, he lined up abreast.
His foot to pedal, his legs toward shore.
That man, a sailor guy, 17 enlisted
a young seaman clean, of the yes-sir clan,
dressed in navy & white, oh my!
Rose up in the ranks, serving for 30+,
a true commander that man never shrank.
I dare say with glee, That Man, That Man,
He is My Father.