My grandfather was a marine
who made us think he could spit nails
Forged in the war, baked to the core
a man honed from his life’s travails

From him came my own father
whom then worked sun up to sunset
Driving horses, on race courses
of a life I'll never forget

My grandfather had owned a knife
where it came from I'll never know
Held by this man, whose own life span
had never bent nor been laid low

He passed that knife to my father
who in turn then gave it to me
And through our blood, the dirt and mud
it had bound itself to all three

I met Drake when he was seven
a troubled, angry, lonesome, child
A wondrous brain, who hid his pain
in a heart that was brash and wild

He'd touched my soul in such a way
I couldn't help but feel his pain
So unafraid, I gave that blade
forging a link to my own chain

I know someday he'll cut himself
as boys always seem to do
Mixing his blood, in tears and mud
to each owner it ever knew

I so wish that I were Drake's dad
alas I couldn't be the one
I hoped he'd see, this gift from me
was meant from a father to son


Tate