Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, IN MEMORY OF MY FATHER, by CLARA GORDON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

IN MEMORY OF MY FATHER, by                    
First Line: No more he sits, with book and pen
Last Line: And no more we walk earth's way.
Subject(s): Sailing & Sailors; Seamen; Sails


No more he sits, with book and pen,
While children round him play;
His work is done -- his journey run,
No more he walks earth's way.

Years have passed but I'll ne'er forget
The wondrous tales he told --
Of "buried cities beneath the sand,"
Of "Solomon's temple of gold."

Of "Mount Vesuvius -- and the horrible fate
That awaits the towns at its base."
Of "a bird that can fly ten thousand miles
Through limitless sky and space."

Of his "Ocean voyage, in a sailing boat,"
Of "Ireland's lakes and streams";
And a "beautiful maid with a soul of a saint"
That he found in the land of his dreams.

He would wake us up -- in the midst of night,
An eclipse or comet to see;
Or maybe it would be the meteorites,
Or an excellent nebulae.

He would play the violin soft and low,
Or dance the Highland Fling,
And oft, at the mill, or the spring on the hill,
Old Irish songs he'd sing.

But now -- he has sailed o'er another sea,
And will tell us about it someday
When our work is done -- our journey run,
And no more we walk earth's way.





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