Echoes of My Father: A Poem About Childhood, Love, and the Sound That Stayed

 From pee-wee fields to forest deep, A whistle’s call, a sound to keep. On sidelines and in tree stands high, It marked the moments, you and I.

Flag football games and wrestling mats, Your signal cut through childhood’s chats. Then in the woods, hearts beating fast, We waited for the deer to pass.

Leaves crunching soft beneath their feet, Your whistle made the moment sweet. The deer stood still, your bow drew back, A lesson learned in nature’s track.

What I’d give to hear once more, That whistle from the days of yore. To feel again that pure delight, Of Saturday mornings, young and bright.

So many things were left unsaid, Questions unanswered, time has fled. Yet in my heart, your whistle stays, Echoing through my adult days.

Dad, though you’re gone, your presence lingers, In memories that time still fingers. That simple sound, so sharp and clear, Brings back the love I held so dear.

From boyhood games to manhood’s call, Your whistle guided through it all. And though life’s path has led me far, I listen still, wherever you are.