Friday, February 24, 2017

For A Father by Anthony Cronin


For A Father

With the exact length and pace of his father's stride
The son walks, 
Echoes and intonations of his father's speech 
Are heard when he talks.

Once when the table was tall and the chair a wood 
He absorbed his father's smile 
And carefully copied the way that he stood.

He grew into exile slowly 
With pride and remorse, 
In some way better than his begetters, 
In others worse.

And now having chosen, with strangers, 
Half glad of his choice 
He smiles with his father's hesitant smile 
And speaks with his voice.

 

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