daddy is my fire

 daddy is my fire

the iron fire poker

got shorter by the day

my mum she poked the fire

almost every single day

and julian the coal man

walked dust it through the house

once a month on a thursday 

as was his always way

delivering the dusty sacks

to the coal house out the back

and how his leather apron shone

and whoosh then he was gone

the newspapers on the floor

picked up quick and fast

and in their dusty dour

they were rolled up to last

until the ‘morrow’s fire

needed kindling in the grate

by my morning early dad

at breakfast never late

then off to work he went

the blower taken down

the warmth of hearth and heart

left and so kindly kindly lent

when down we came

toast upon the fork

at our hearth and home

but by then he was hard at work

  hobnailed boots a growling

upon the tar-chipped road

home he came at dinner time

black and spitting grime

up upon his shoulder jumped

my daddy mine is mine

and when he nodded off

the newspaper slipped away

and we watched him always

with a smile upon our lips

our dad he is a smashing chap

growing slowly older every day

were the naps between his naps

and how oh how

can i stay this moment long

before so long my bachgen bach

he whispers just one more time

when washed and clean of grime

my head upon his shoulder

for just one more time

more time