In the hallowed silence, shades of past recall, A father's laughter echoes through the hall. With WD-40, he kept the world running right, DIY hero in the dim garage light. His drill spun tales in wood and steel, Creation's echo only he could feel. "Pull my finger," he'd say with a cheeky grin, A jest of love, a laughter's kin. Now tears like rivulets in sawdust fall, Missing the hands that built it all. Yet in every creaking board, I hear him, still, A whisper in the wind, a father's will.