The Readers · SIA朗读者 | 父亲节快乐！

A Dad is a person

Who is loving and kind

And often he knows

What you have on your mind

He's someone who listens,

Suggests, and defends

A dad can be one

Of your very best friends!

He's proud of your triumphs,

But when things go wrong,

A dad can be patient

And helpful and strong.

In all that you do

A dad's love plays a part

There's always a place for him

Deep in your heart.

And each year that passes,

You're even gladder,

More grateful and proud

Just to call him your dad!

Only a dad with a tired face, 

Coming home from the daily race, 

Bringing little of gold or fame, 

To show how well he has played the game, 

But glad in his heart that his own rejoice 

To see him come and to hear his voice. 

Only a dad with a brood of four, 

One of ten million men or more. 

Plodding along in the daily strife, 

Bearing the whips and the scorns of life, 

With never a whimper of pain or hate, 

For the sake of those who at home await.

Only a dad, neither rich nor proud, 

Merely one of the surging crowd. 

Toiling, striving from day to day, 

Facing whatever may come his way, 

Silent, whenever the harsh condemn, 

And bearing it all for the love of them.

A Dad is a person

Who is loving and kind

And often he knows

What you have on your mind

He's someone who listens,

Suggests, and defends

A dad can be one

Of your very best friends!

He's proud of your triumphs,

But when things go wrong,

A dad can be patient

And helpful and strong.

In all that you do

A dad's love plays a part

There's always a place for him

Deep in your heart.

And each year that passes,

You're even gladder,

More grateful and proud

Just to call him your dad!

Only a dad with a tired face, 

Coming home from the daily race, 

Bringing little of gold or fame, 

To show how well he has played the game, 

But glad in his heart that his own rejoice 

To see him come and to hear his voice. 

Only a dad with a brood of four, 

One of ten million men or more. 

Plodding along in the daily strife, 

Bearing the whips and the scorns of life, 

With never a whimper of pain or hate, 

For the sake of those who at home await.

Only a dad, neither rich nor proud, 

Merely one of the surging crowd. 

Toiling, striving from day to day, 

Facing whatever may come his way, 

Silent, whenever the harsh condemn, 

And bearing it all for the love of them.

Sonnet 18

William Shakespeare

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer's lease hath all too short a date:

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimmed,

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature's changing course untrimmed:

But thy eternal summer shall not fade, 

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,

Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st:

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

It takes more than blood to be a dad.

Oh this is surely a proven fact.

I've seen men give his heart to a child ...

Never once think of taking it back.

A Dad is the one who is always there;

He protects a child from all harm.

He gives a child the assurance that he

will be their anchor in any storm.

A real Dad is a man that teaches his child

all the things in life he needs to know.

He's the tower of strength a child leans on.

The source of love that helps them grow.

There are men that children call Daddy.

Oh, he is their shelter when it rains. 

He showers them with unconditional love.

As if it were his blood in their veins.

Whenever you meet a Dad that redefines the word,

honor him with all the respect that is due.

Understand that he proudly wears this banner ... 

Because his heart is big enough for you.

It's sad but true that not all men understand

it takes more than blood to be a dad.

Someday if they wake up to their empty life ...

They shall miss what they could have had.

To those men who will never be a dad ...

No matter what they say or do.

It takes more than blood to possess that title ...

And it's only found in a man like you.

I love someone dearly.

He's kind as can be;

He makes me so happy;

He's my dad, you see.

He takes me out fishing;

We play ball and swim;

He knows about everything;

 I'm so proud of him.

And as I get bigger,

I just want to grow

To be like my daddy

Cause I love him so.

You never said 'I'm leaving'

You never said 'goodbye'

You were gone before I knew it,

And only God knew why

There are no words to tell you

Just what I feel inside

The shock, the hurt, the anger

Might gradually subside

A million times I'll need you,

A million times I'll cry

If Love alone could have saved you,

You never would have died

In Life I loved you dearly

In death I love you still

In my heart you hold a place,

That no one could ever fill

It broke my heart to lose you,

But you didn't go alone

For part of me went with you,

The day God took you home.

Things will never be the same

And although it hurts so bad

I will smile whenever I hear your name

And be proud you were my Dad.

Daddy

Sylvia Plath - 1932-1963

You do not do, you do not do

Any more, black shoe

In which I have lived like a foot

For thirty years, poor and white,

Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

Daddy, I have had to kill you.

You died before I had time—

Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,

Ghastly statue with one gray toe

Big as a Frisco seal

And a head in the freakish Atlantic

Where it pours bean green over blue

In the waters off beautiful Nauset.

I used to pray to recover you.

Ach, du.

In the German tongue, in the Polish town

Scraped flat by the roller

Of wars, wars, wars.

But the name of the town is common.

My Polack friend

Says there are a dozen or two.

So I never could tell where you

Put your foot, your root,

I never could talk to you.

The tongue stuck in my jaw.

It stuck in a barb wire snare.

Ich, ich, ich, ich,

I could hardly speak.

I thought every German was you.

And the language obscene

An engine, an engine

Chuffing me off like a Jew.

A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.

I began to talk like a Jew.

I think I may well be a Jew.

The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna

Are not very pure or true.

With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck

And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack

I may be a bit of a Jew.

I have always been scared of you,

With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.

And your neat mustache

And your Aryan eye, bright blue.

Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You—

Not God but a swastika

So black no sky could squeak through.

Every woman adores a Fascist,

The boot in the face, the brute

Brute heart of a brute like you.

You stand at the blackboard, daddy,

In the picture I have of you,

A cleft in your chin instead of your foot

But no less a devil for that, no not

Any less the black man who

Bit my pretty red heart in two.

I was ten when they buried you.

At twenty I tried to die

And get back, back, back to you.

I thought even the bones would do.

But they pulled me out of the sack,

And they stuck me together with glue.

And then I knew what to do.

I made a model of you,

A man in black with a Meinkampf look

And a love of the rack and the screw.

And I said I do, I do.

So daddy, I'm finally through.

The black telephone's off at the root,

The voices just can't worm through.

If I've killed one man, I've killed two—

The vampire who said he was you

And drank my blood for a year,

Seven years, if you want to know.

Daddy, you can lie back now.

There's a stake in your fat black heart

And the villagers never liked you.

They are dancing and stamping on you.

They always knew it was you.

Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through.

12 October 1962