Jose Bero Poem by irenio irenaeus bero

Six or seven years old I was
I remember holding those hands
Very tight on a Sunday as he taught
Me how to cross that busy road

Over and over again
He reminded me look both ways
And make sure no car was close by

Together we walked throughout the filthy city
As we enjoyable the serenity
Of each others company

How I vividly remember
Him carrying me on his broad shoulders
Sharing his joys

If there was a way
To retrace my footsteps and emotions
I would definitely skip many adventures
To run back to those memorable happiness
I miss you father