The Man I Call Father

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With Father’s Day approaching I have decided to publish a poem I wrote in honour of my wonderful Grandad, the man I consider to be my father.

My Grandad died many years ago but was the one man I knew would always be there for me. He still is. He is in my heart and in my decision making. It is to him I still turn to and when I look to his picture on the wall I know I was blessed to have him to call mine. I can still feel his hand around my own. My compass and my light.


Was it only yesterday I last saw him?

I can still feel the coarseness of his jumper on my face, my safe place

Encircled in comfort

And yet it was years ago and I was much younger

I remember the bonfires and the scent of the wood

Moving the hedgehogs, sweeping the leaves

But it was so long ago and I was a child when we dug the potatoes

Gathering them and inhaling the earthiness

I was not yet born but they chose my mother from many

and therefore chose me too

Then I held his finger in my fist

and saw my first glimpse of unconditional love in his eyes

His essence still with me

The staff by which each man is measured

My Grandad

© In The Autumn Of My Life 2016


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