Sundays too my father got up early and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold, then with cracked hands that ached from labor in the weekday weather made banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him. I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking. When the rooms were warm, he'd call, and slowly I would
In 1972, the third Sunday of June was declared Father’s Day, a national celebration of fathers. In honor of the holiday, browse our selection of poems for and about fathers. For more, browse poems about fathers in the themes menu.