Memory of my Father

Every old man I

Reminds me of my

When he had fallen in love with

One time when sheaves were gathered.

That man I saw in Gardner

Stumbled on the kerb was one,

He stared at me half-eyed,

I might have been his son.

And I remember the

Faltering over his

In Bayswater,

London,

He too set me the riddle.

Every old man I

In October-coloured

Seems to say to me:"I was once your father."