My grandfather <br />moves in a world <br /> <br />not only without me <br />but without my father <br /> <br />(we the generations yet to be) . <br /> <br />It is Oct.1903. <br /> <br />My grandfather now <br />unknown to us <br /> <br />cannot conceive of our existence <br />these our times <br /> <br />and of how <br />all his realness <br /> <br />his crossing now <br />this stream <br /> <br />his thoughts...his dreams <br />the sick calf in his arms <br /> <br />the biting of this bitter wind <br /> <br />will be <br /> <br />only this imagined <br />half forgotten telling <br /> <br />by someone <br />he has never known <br /> <br />written upon <br />an October wind <br /> <br />that speaks <br />to both of us.<br /><br />Dónall Dempsey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/october-1903-for-lyn/
