Out, with my family, on a Sunday walk,
In a park, with flowers for all to see,
I stop to take pictures of my kids,
With the gorgeous roses, and quietly
I realize, it's not the blooms, but
How beautiful my kids look to me...
Next thing I know, I start to choke-up,
As a father's love swells viscerally,
And sends a tear running down my face
Which I fail to hide effectively...
Thereafter I'm joking and denying
To my worried, puzzled, children:
"No, no, Papa wasn't really crying"...
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