Sunday, June 10, 2018

Every old man I see ...

Thankfully my father remains in good health.  But each year life herself diminishes us both a little more and each year I find an old poem once learned in school becoming more and more true.

Memory of My Father

Every old man I see
Reminds me of my father
When he had fallen in love with death
One time when sheaves were gathered.

Stumble on the kerb was one,
That man I saw in Gardiner Street
He stared at me half-eyed,
Faltering over his fiddle
I might have been his son. 

In Bayswater, London.
And I remember the musician
Seems to say to me
He too set me the riddle. 

Every old man I see
In October-coloured weather
"I was once your father."
-Patrick Kavanagh
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