My Father

My Father

My father was an ironworker

He used to build the world

with hardhat upon his head

and tools around his waist

he would go to work

From dawn to dusk

From deep beneath the ground

To balancing high above

In sweltering heat

Or numbing cold

It did not matter

His job he would do


He was a remarkable sight

Balancing on the iron

Way up high

Wielding his torch

Blue sparks falling down

Like raindrops to the ground

To the shop

The engineers would come

Telling him what they wanted

Master welder that he was,

In no time at all,

He would build it

He paid his dues

Earned the respect of all

The young guys wanted to be just like him

He was the best at what he did

And could think on his feet

my father was an ironworker

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