The Book of Longing
This morning I put your book on the table,
the one you gave to me for Christmas
just before you told me you were going away
and might never come back.
I have read this book from cover to cover
but its message is deeper than words.
Now whenever I look at it,
I am reminded of you.
a poem from a father to his son
- st theresa
- Posts: 430
- Joined: Wed Jan 18, 2006 7:24 pm
- Location: Edmonton Alberta
- st theresa
- Posts: 430
- Joined: Wed Jan 18, 2006 7:24 pm
- Location: Edmonton Alberta
Re: a poem from a father to his son
Something in this reminds me of Patrick Kavanagh's poem:
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.
That man I saw in Gardner Street
Stumbled on the kerb was one,
He stared at me half-eyed,
I might have been his son.
And I remember the musician
Faltering over his fiddle
In Bayswater, London,
He too set me the riddle.
Every old man I see
In October-coloured weather
Seems to say to me:
"I was once your father."
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.
That man I saw in Gardner Street
Stumbled on the kerb was one,
He stared at me half-eyed,
I might have been his son.
And I remember the musician
Faltering over his fiddle
In Bayswater, London,
He too set me the riddle.
Every old man I see
In October-coloured weather
Seems to say to me:
"I was once your father."