My Father

My Father.

I walked on roads and boreen’s,
And listened in fascination to both word and song,
The wisdom of my father and the hymns of the birds.

We stopped to marvel at each flower,
Counting petals and deciphering leaves,
The beauty of Nature and the complexity of life.

I miss my Father and I am his son,
The tears well up in me when I dwell on him.
The complexity of my Father and the wisdom of age.

In every hedge and beneath every tree,
I remember sharing life and knowledge.
The hymns of the birds ring loudly around companionship.

I miss my Father and I am his son,
The tears well up in me when I dwell on him.
Birdsong, Flowers and Bees.

I never said Goodbye as a son should have.
I never thanked him for his love.
I never forgave him for his faults.
I never cried by his coffin.
I never learnt more from him.

I walk the roads and boreen’s,
And I say sorry and whisper I loved you.
The birds, flowers and bees hear and I trust they take the truth home to him.

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