My Dad Made It Poem by Daleen Enslinstrydom

Today I want to brag
like the children on the playground
and tell each and everyone
that my dad can do anything
and there are things
that he can do best
and my dad is a carpenter.

When you look at his hands
you will notice
his working time
engraved into them
and calluses show
the endless hours
as does the marks and cuts
and his fingernails tell their own story

and sometimes his hands reminds you
of the sandpaper that he works with
and I do remember him
from my childhood days
with his working belt around his waist
and his back bended
and his eyes focussed
on the work-piece in his hands

and in my mind
I cans still hear the cry of the electric saw
as it did cut through
numberless pieces of wood
and dust and sweat mingled on his face
and how I did laugh
when he took off his glasses
and his face was so dirty

and every day he took God’s own masterpieces
and recreated mahogany and pine
and wood from the butter-spoon tree
and yellowwood and Rhodesian teak
and made showpieces
that is fit for a king

and with great craftsmanship
he turned knobs and legs
for tables and chairs
and today I stand back
and look at one of his pieces
and I am so proud
to know that my dad made it.