There is the family photograph
That is your father’s face,
There is your father’s father
Grey-gathering years apace;
The son, bright-eyed in the morning,
The father, lined and drawn,
The son became the father
On the day that you were born.
We’ve all set out on the highway
Our fathers wished us well,
The sons became the fathers
In the same distinctive spell;
The road of all beginnings
Is all there is to lend,
But many a twist, and many a turn
Has marred us at the end.
He was my father’s father,
I am my father’s son,
We’ve travelled as far, and farther
Than our father’s years have run;
The twists and turns of fortune
Mean nothing, lost or won,
But the love of a father’s father,
And the love of a father’s son.
3 September 1977
The last stanza is the most likable...filiality personified in your words....excellent....thank you
A wonderful poem. Would you read my poem 'Faded Photographs' which tries to express the same sentiments about parents (but not as well yours I might add)
Yes, we are each ourselves, no matter what others may think. Good poem. Read mine - Who Am I - Adeline
An enjoyable poem on a very unusual and special theme. I particularly like the rhythmic style and the way it ended.
Having two sons myself, this poem has meaning for me, I loved reading it. Reminds me of looking back at pictures of the past also and remarking how sons look like their fathers and their fathers before. Great write, keep on writing, you have my attention! RoseAnn
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wonderful poem :) I agree with the poet below. There is a very likeable quality to this poem :) -Wu