My Father Planted Trees

My father was a working man; he worked hard all his life
He taught me how to fish and hunt and the sharp end of the knife
When his anger hardened him he drove me to my knees
But when he listened to his soul, my father planted trees.

He grew up in the 30’s when you never had it made
So he’d sweat on when lesser men would languish in the shade
He got himself a home, a job, a wife and family
He carved his life with massive hands, and my father planted trees

He hit, he healed, he prayed, he cursed, sometimes the best, sometimes the worst
He loved and laughed and worked and played, they broke that mold when he was made
His body toiled, no life of ease, and when he was young my father
Planted trees.

We don’t always see eye to eye, my old man and me
Some parts of him I’ll never get, some parts I’ll never see
Someday I’ll only hear his voice on a northern forest’s breeze
But something grows inside of me, my father planted trees
I am the man I am today ‘cause my father planted trees
He showed me life when I was young, and my father planted trees

[Written by Joe Lauer when his father died; published here with his permission]

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