Dad Poem by keith brown

I talk to my Father, the way that he did, tell tales of gentler days
With women in kitchens or sat simply stitching, through red autumn
Or bright summer haze
In winter, snug by the fire, the children seen but not heard
All toys put away, with their chores for the day.
Obey at the first spoken word.

He talked of a world quite idyllic, whilst I continued to pry
He spoke of great wars that killed thousands
Of lost mates, each named with a sigh
The young men with whom he played tag, the lady that first stole his heart
His first job uggling coal from the side of an old horse and cart.

We talked of the change that he witnessed in the time that he had been here
Of the times they had laughed at inventions, and other that had only brought fear
The first car he passed on his bike, with a flagman walking ahead
A brother the first road accident victim, as he spoke of both living and dead.

We laughed at old faded pictures, as tears invaded his eyes
Amidst stories of biplanes tied up with string and mans desire to fly

The day he first met my Mother and how he felt at my birth
Cherished memories of childhood
And how much money was worth.

We started our talk at breakfast, we were still talking at noon
Discussing the merits of a nuclear age when a man first stood on the moon
A life so full of changes, filled with joy and tears
Made no less extraordinary, By the passing of a hundred years

He continued to speak as I listened relating the tale by heart
Till at last the evening grew heavy and
I knew that soon we must part
Now when shadows lengthen or doubts and sadness may tarry

I think of the tale he told

Of a life he called

Ordinary.