My dear dad. 

We didn't always see eye to eye, maybe we were just too much alike.  We both fought for the little man - I a still do.  A fire would erupt within us as we flew to help and protect those who couldn't help themselves, I have never shied away from someone if they were harming someone else, I never will - nor did you dad, nor did you. 

You taught me so much, such as, how to appreciate a sky - no matter how gloomy it seemed.  I don't think I would ever have looked at clouds, the patches of blue and grey hues if it weren't for your love of the sky, the freedom that it embodied. The WWI poets, how they moved you to tears, the futility of war, will man ever learn?  

Lets not talk too much about music, we didn't agree on my music choice when I was young.  Suffice it to say, I have learned to appreciate your music choices; mostly. 

Your granddaughter Ruby, is partial to Pink Floyd you should hear her sing, and play a multitude of instruments.  She's phenomenal, a world class lyricist, you would really admire her work - it's poetry to music.   Your grandson Matt, works so hard, he has his own business, 2 in fact.  He fights the bureaucratic system, to make life better for the people around him.  He has your fight, your sense of right and wrong and he has your work ethic.  We all got our work ethic from you dad, I know you always worked hard for us and I will always be thankful to you for showing us that work pays. 

I have loved you for almost 58 years and I will love you for the rest of my life, til we meet again pops under a bomber's moon, for now in the words of Owen 

Move him into the sun

Gently it's touch awoke him once

At home, whispering of fields half-sown.

Always it woke him, even in France,

Until this morning and this snow.

If anything might rouse him now

The kind old sun will know.


Think how it wakes the seeds

Woke once the clays of a cold star.

Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides

Full-nerved, still warm, too hard to stir?

Was it for this the clay grew tall?

—O what made fatuous sunbeams toil

To break earth's sleep at all?

 Futility by Wilfred Owen