Tag: #father #loss #life

My Father

I never thought about him being vain or conceited

Proud yes

In his work, in his family, in his faith

He wanted for nothing, except that his line be happy

A man that wandered as a child over cliffs and strand

But never learned to swim

It didn’t bother him

For he would run

Over sand and grass, field and bog

Catching waves, catching breath, catching ball

with a hurl in one hand and a sliotar in the other

what luxury this simplicity was

for a boy who walked three long miles to school bare foot

paying no heed to distance or time 

counting rhythm and beat of the mooing and bleating

of cows and sheep

crows and curlew over – head crooned their symphony

and on his 12th summer, books and pencils were exchanged

 now it was time to pick up the shovel, the pitch fork, the mantle

and work the land until he too could fly south for the winter

and migrate for a different labour

Soon the sea would carry him to foreign shores and foreign places 

The sound of the cattle replaced with the sounds of the traffic

The hum of the curlew exchanged for the drumming of the drill

Leather now cover the soles of his feet  

pressing down on pedals and pulling on levers in his JCB 

the pull of home tugging at his heart strings

my father, and thousands like him, come rain or shine, built the English motorways.