I’ve worked there for three years, <br />Three months, five days, <br />The countless hours. <br /> <br />Today I helped train in <br />The local boy, my replacement. <br />Whose job it’ll be to greet the faces, <br />Know the places, running <br />His own course of countless hours. <br /> <br />Chatting with old Donie, <br />The farming man from Rathlogan, <br />Scrubbing the dirt from the old worn mats, <br />Arranging the bottles <br />In order for countless hours. <br /> <br />Walking home in sunlight’s haze, <br />An amber glow, and then in utter blackness <br />Always watching the fields, <br />Trees, children at play, at ease – anything. <br />I had countless hours. <br /> <br />But I’ve stumbled you see – realised <br />Before me is a calendar. Marked. <br />Now this chunk of life it owns me, <br />Faces, spaces and traces – <br />A mind of countless hours. <br /> <br />To the new boy, I say: <br />Take your calendar, there. <br />Place it where you see it daily, yet <br />Ignore it. Work smoothly, <br />Stack orderly, enjoy always your countless hours. <br /> <br />I’ve worked here for three years, <br />Three months, five days, <br />Those countless hours. <br /> <br /> <br />April 29th 2006<br /><br />Seán O Muiríosa<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/countless-hours/
