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.
Seamus Heaney's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Follower by Seamus Heaney )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
- AHMAD RAMI احمد رامي, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- Privacy Lost, Morgan Michaels
- Walking alone in your memories, Asma Riaz Khan
- No Free Lunch, Bill Cantrell
- A True Hosanna - After Reading A Poem by.., Warren Falcon
- Fight and War for Why?, Pintu Mahakul
- Life, Richard Lam
- From Dust To Dust, Neela Nath
- Long ago and far away., richard harris
- The Sisters Jayne, Randy McClave