Your Father's Eyes

I remember many years ago when the distant siren told us all the shift had ended. Yet! Six pints to be drunk before stumbling through the back door, his sweat still clinging to his face sealed there with in the grime of despair swearing every night, never to go back to that bloody pithead! But our need was he and his was the beer until that fateful day, when out of his misery he was taken, leaving us all for another world, his need of pain forgotten when distributed to those of us left behind. Yet every day I still see him in your smile in your ways, and when you are sad Dear Daughter in those beautiful ‘Ice Blue Eyes’. © Harry J Horsman 2008