In West Virginia here he was born,
On one bright, sunny June morn.
The hour was just nearly eleven,
The year was eighteen ninety-seven.
More than eighty years he's been here,
He's known many laughs and many tears.
Much hard work and many things he can do,
Farming, carpentry, cutting hair, and,
yes, a horse he'd shoe.
He's worked in the factory and made a bed,
He can so anything he wants, I've heard it said.
He's made molasses in a pan,
Called out many nights to doctor
livestock or lend the neighbor a helping hand.
He was the hunter, the sick neighbor's gave a que,
When maybe they'd feel better if they had squirrel stew.
They called on him to slaughter the beef and hogs,
And Dad always kept a good fox dog.
Tilled the fields for gardens and corn,
And read the Bible on Sunday morn.
Built many churches and houses you see,
Filed saws and was a keeper of honey bees.
The chipyard where he rived boards
for roof and pickets for fence looked
like the work of a beaver.
He's been a Richwood Mountain man and
he escaped the clutches of Scarlet Fever,
He was a sower of seeds and made ax and
hammer handles from a hickory block.
He's been a trapper, Teamster, and
once killed a mad dog with a rock.
He's half-soled shoes on a last and was a maker of toys,
He passed on how to work and many things to his boys.
Worked on the pipeline, repaired wagons, half-soled sleds,
His smoked cured hams and bacon are the best, everyone said.
He was a blacksmith, I remember,
And he sometimes worked in timber.
He could graft fruit trees with the best
Catch fish and frogs, I can attest.
He can do so many things,
And the stories he tells make laughter ring.
I tell you this and it makes us glad,
Five boys and two girls that calls you Dad.
I'm sure he's helped many others along the way,
But he never stopped to receive the pay.
Many the good times down through the years we've had,
This man so great, and he is my Dad.