Seen from the back as <br />they walk along the dusty summer road, with <br />the sheep straying onto the verges where <br />a tuft of more succulent grass may linger <br />in the earlier shadow of <br />the noontime sun, under the low stone wall, <br />it’s difficult to see whether <br />the couple walking with the <br />gentle pace of conversation, are <br />son and father, or his grandfather; the man <br />seems older than the young fathers <br />around here. But from the front, when <br />you see their eyes, there’s no mistake – <br />they’re father (or stepfather?) and son all right, talking <br />with such attention, such respect <br />for one another. <br /> <br />They walk into the village, silently greeted, greeting, <br />with the gentle nodded glance of villagers <br />about their various tasks; and open up <br />the wooden door of the cool and tidy carpenters’ <br />workshop open to the sunny air, where <br />a young mother gazes at the boy with <br />all the love in the world. It’s <br />in His eyes too.<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/0400-the-family/
