Follower

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.

by Seamus Heaney

Other poems of HEANEY (38)

Comments (67)

lik if u et big pooop lik boss. my wif33 eat kids now i being arrested for home invasion in state of oklahomo im veri sad plz giv me lik and as dealer out of bruh
I LOVE LOOKING AT MY MASSIVE THICK BIG DICKTIONARY I LOVE SEEING ALL THE WHITE STUFF IN IT
lik if u et big pooop lik boss. my wif33 eat kids now i being arrested for home invasion in state of oklahomo im veri sad plz giv me lik and as dealer out of
ima a person hahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahaahhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhiiiiiiiaiaaa
yeet yeet yeet yeet yeet
See More