Songs of My Fathers

Each year the dead live longer in me,

The distance between us grown nearer;

How I learn a little more their language,

Hearing a little clearer what their lives

And deaths have to say if only I listen;

Walking the places where they walked

To become their part of it, as I am now

And will be, here in the common ground 

Of shared lives and loves, words we made

That are my inheritance, received of them

And given to my children, that I practice now,

Singing the songs my fathers taught me.





Poetry by countryfog
Read 431 times
Written on 2011-07-16 at 18:19

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These sentiments are so alien to me that at first I took the poem as mythical. But no, it's real enough, I can see that. I hear no songs, at least none from my fathers. I can imagine, though, to hear such songs would be deeply comforting.
2011-07-17


Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
What a fine expression of rootedness, Fog. Having bounced around, having been the child of people who bounced around, I heard no such singing. Sometimes, I wish that I had.
2011-07-17