A BALLAD TO MY UNSUNG HERO

Look at his rippling muscles,

Look at sweat glistening from his body as he whacks away at the stubborn scrap,

Look at the focus and determination in his eyes,

Look how he turns that ugly piece into such a fine pan.

This is a ballad to my hero,

The man who works without his shirt on the whole day, surrounded by intimidating flames of orange fire, but works on undaunted and undistracted,

That man with the toughest black skin, the shiniest of all scalps,

Look at that man who puts food on our table and clothes on our back,

This is a ballad to my unsung hero,

He who speaks with a voice heavier than lead but has a heart softer than wool,

He who says little in words but lets his actions speak volumes,

That man who laughs at my icy jokes and encourages my crazy dreams,

This is a ballad to my unsung hero,

He that calls me an angel when I know my acts really are demonic,

He who chases me around as we play the evening away,

He that lets me watch as he hammers the day into oblivion,

Gives me bits of metal to work on and keep me busy,

He that carries me to bed when I fall asleep in his workshop,

This is a ballad to my unsung hero,

He that carries me on his laps as we watch the sun set,

I just want him to know that if all that seems too little for him,

They are very large to a little child watching from the stands,

He that is now writing a ballad to his unsung hero, you are my hero.