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
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