In the quiet hours before the dawn,
A father rises, weary yet strong,
His hands weathered, his heart unworn,
Facing the day with a silent song.
He walks the path others fear to tread,
Carrying dreams on shoulders broad,
With every step, a prayer unsaid,
Guided by love, his steady nod.
Through storms and trials, he remains,
A beacon of hope, unwavering, bright,
Shielding us from life’s harshest rains,
Casting his warmth through the coldest night.
Yet in his eyes, a gentle grace,
A world of stories untold, unheard,
His sacrifice etched on his face,
Speaking volumes without a word.