(My sweet little sister wrote this poem on my dad. I liked it a lot as it is funny and has wonderful rhymings, an art I could not master.)
Neither a jog, nor a walk,
yet never fails to miss a mysore pak.
A connoiseur of sweets, unlimited snacks and limited vegetables,
how my mom copes with it should become a fable!!
Never have I seen him weak, to elders he is humble and meek,
listens to them, their advices he seeks, yet remains lazy every day of every week.
A hardworker at office, always at work,
A lazy man at home, always at sleep,
Sofa and he are an inseperable entities,
from breakfast to dinner, even during calamities.
A man who believes in equality,
he works and so should the t.v.
His office hours are its rest hours,
his rest hours,its office.
His camp days are it's holidays,
his holidays it's overtime.
Yet his faults make him a man,
for otherwise he's a perfect human,
handsome and thorough gentleman,
forever my superman.
A man of dignity and honour,
sometimes gregarious and sometimes a loner.
A dad when he pampers me,
A friend when he listens to me,
A psychologist when he analyses me,
A hitler when he scolds me!
One for all and all for one,
Loved by each and everyone.
A man down-to-earth,
of such people there is a dearth.
Neither Mahatma, nor Lincoln,
For eternity he is my idol.
