In the quiet dawn he rises, steadfast and strong,
Bearing the weight of dreams on weary shoulders.
His hands, weathered by time’s relentless song,
Build futures from hopes, turning stories bolder.

Through storms and sun, he walks the endless mile,
A silent sentinel, guarding dreams from despair.
His laughter hides the struggles all the while,
Yet his heart is a beacon, always there.

In the shadows of his toil, a legacy is spun,
Crafted with love, in each whispered prayer.
He carves paths where his children can run,
With every sacrifice, a future laid bare.

So here’s to the fathers, their quiet grace,
The unsung heroes of each tender tale.
In their sacrifice, we find our place,
Their spirit the wind that fills our sails.