This poem is dedicated to all the souls of loved ones who have passed.   I lost my dad two years ago.  It still seems as if he's going to walk through the door any minute.  Then, I have to remind myself, no, that is but a dream.  My heart will always ache for him and his loving voice.  I will always miss his bushy beard and calloused hands.  When his hand held mine, I felt protected.  His hands, the emblem of hard work.  His hands, the signature of a true man.   My dad was the last of his mighty kind.  He was a traditional Christian man, strong in appearance and in faith.  His teachings bore me to be a strong, Godly woman.  I did not receive a degree or diploma in my faith.  I did receive God into my heart, which surpasses any academic degree.  My dad always said, "This is just our temporary home, heaven is our eternal home."  That is our hope in life, to spend eternity with our heavenly Father.  I hope this poem, "War at Tea Time", will comfort the broke