Daddy's tool-box sits alone.
    His tools remain, but Daddy's gone.
'Seems it was just short hours ago,
    He pulled them from that box we know:
Its corners dented, its handle broke.
    Through use, it's lost its painted cloak.
It was the first thing that he headed to-
    When'er there was a job to do.
And the last thing that he'd put away-
    As he finished fixing one more day.
It carried things from a hardware store.
    Some things his daddy had used before.
Many things we all possess -
    ...A small collection. More-or-less.
I can see that tool-box at his side,
    As, beneath the car, he'd slide.
Or rising forth, with groans of pain,
    From freeing-up a stubborn drain.
It was always there, and so was he,
    Fixin' - for his family.
Now Daddy's tool-box sits alone.
    The tools remain, and Daddy's gone.
But, is he really? Look, and see!
    Those tools declare his legacy.
A loosened window, a cupboard door,
    A chimney pipe, a linoleum floor,
A mended step, a painted chair.
    ...He's still around us. - - Everywhere.