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Written by: Seamus Heaney | Biography
 | Quotes (1) |
 My father worked with a horse-plough,
His shoulders globed like a full sail strung
Between the shafts and the furrow.
The horse strained at his clicking tongue.
An expert.
He would set the wing And fit the bright steel-pointed sock.
The sod rolled over without breaking.
At the headrig, with a single pluck Of reins, the sweating team turned round And back into the land.
His eye Narrowed and angled at the ground, Mapping the furrow exactly.
I stumbled in his hob-nailed wake, Fell sometimes on the polished sod; Sometimes he rode me on his back Dipping and rising to his plod.
I wanted to grow up and plough, To close one eye, stiffen my arm.
All I ever did was follow In his broad shadow round the farm.
I was a nuisance, tripping, falling, Yapping always.
But today It is my father who keeps stumbling Behind me, and will not go away.



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