Poetry

Daideó

I watch you in your black armchair

Grey hair a halo on your head.

Showing the world the golden,

Unbreakable heart hidden inside you.

A heart that stopped beating twice,

Along with the hearts of the family,

But you kept on fighting through,

To share your kindness another day.

You are no Sherlock Holmes villain,

Nor a formidable older man.

You are the silent Irish farmer,

Hat slightly askew,

Telling stories almost a century old.

You speak of an old Ireland,

The one I read about in my history books.

Talking in a foreign language,

Cringing as English words fall from your lips.

You never fought in any war,

Or sided with your Republican brothers,

You only cared about two things;

Your home and your family.

Two things now so intricately combined

It’s difficult to tell them apart.

A wife, six children

Five you raised, one you buried.

A man who has done nothing but

Love for over ninety years.

You are the only granddad I have ever known

And Daideó,

What a privilege it has been.

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