Every old man I see <br />Reminds me of my father <br />When he had fallen in love with death <br />One time when sheaves were gathered. <br /> <br />That man I saw in Gardner Street <br />Stumbled on the kerb was one, <br />He stared at me half-eyed, <br />I might have been his son. <br /> <br />And I remember the musician <br />Faltering over his fiddle <br />In Bayswater, London, <br />He too set me the riddle. <br /> <br />Every old man I see <br />In October-coloured weather <br />Seems to say to me: <br />"I was once your father."<br /><br />Patrick Kavanagh<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/memory-of-my-father/
