Poem by Patrick Kavanagh

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 Gardiner Street

Stumble 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.”

 

  • Patrick Kavanagh

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