When I was Six
We'd run and gather 'bout his knees,
he'd tickle us and we would tease,
to make a bridge twixt stool and chair,
and he would hold us prisoner there,
all laughing till we gasped for air,
and begged him please, for more.
He's sometimes tell us stories then,
all cuddled up right next to him.
If days were sometimes dull and flat
our nights with Dad made up for that
I'll always think of how we sat,
snuggled in his love.