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Come late or come soon,
but you don't come at all,
You ran from your children before they could crawl,
Reach high and reach higher or low as you can,
Step up and come hither and act like a man.
Excuses don't cut it;
there's nothing to say,
Your children are losing when you are away,
Reach high with your feelings, reach low with your care,
For something is missing when you are not there.
Your son is eleven,
your daughter is twelve,
Without your firm guidance, in sin they will delve,
Step up and be counted, step up and be seen,
Please act like a Father; you know what I mean.
You wanted some
children, that's what you had said,
The day that you begged her to come to your bed,
Was that just a notion, or was it a lie?
Whatever, you're "Dad" now, so give it a try.
Be late or be soon, but
be there all the same,
Quit running around and quit playing this game,
Your children are precious; it's all up to you,
For you will be judged for the things that you do.
by David
Ronald Bruce Pekrul
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