Fathers are like lather.
Not of much use on their own,
Necessary though for the shave to be smoother.
Will start the same afresh, every time.
With lots of fluff and less of stuff,
Tirelessly repetitive in action, akin to hourly chime.
More and more things they like to gather
Thinking they need all that stuff for every action.
Not using them all, is less of a bother.
Drying so quickly, if not constantly cared for,
They may prick and rub like unkempt beard.
Growing tirelessly despite cuts and bruises, for the family's welfare, they are seemingly always at war.
Mothers are like pother.
Hiding deep the glowing fire within,
Appear to be clouds of smoke or dust that smother.
Always wanting their wards to do well,
One moment can burn down the house
And in another turn metal into jewel.
Intense and scorching in their mood,
Like the flame necessary to begin
Lighting a lamp or cooking the food.
Full of warmth that pervades,
Like a campfire on a cold starry night
They also can and will rudely invade.
Family is made of Father and Mother,
Just like a home built with brick and mortar.
Changing that mix is a pointless bother.
Spotless shave needs some lather.
Not much happens in Life without some pother.
For us in Life, there may be many others.
But for our Life, Fa and Mo are the thers!