by Tom Wyatt
Knock, Knock use to make me laugh,
They were the jokes he’d tell;
Knock , knock always made me laugh,
When he was here and all was well.
Knock, knock doesn’t make me laugh
it brings a tear to my eye;
Knock, knock doesn’t make me laugh,
why did my little boy die?
KNOCK, KNOCK it’s killing me and tearing
KNOCK, KNOCK I’m dying God, dying of a
Knock, knock I need you God to help me through
Knock, knock I’m praying God please make
the burden less.
Knock, knocks used to make me laugh and
they will again in time;
Knock, knocks will make me laugh when I
feel his hand in mine.
About the Author: Tom Wyatt earned a M.B.A. from Washington University and began his career as a stock broker then later as a small business owner. Following the death of his four-year old son, Johnny, on March 5, 1991, Tom became very active in Compassionate Friends. He currently writes and shares articles and poems for Bereaved Parents of the USA. After receiving his Ph.D. in Clinical Psychology in 2000 from the University of Missouri, Tom has been counseling bereaved parents pro bono. He and his wife, Ruth, have three children; Blake (27), Johnny (4) and Kelsey (20) and two grandchildren.