Follower of poetry

I was with Matthew Naylor the other day. We were dead cultured - we talked about poetry and everything.

He told me about a poem by Seanus Heaney called Follower which, through the poet's memory of ploughing, speaks of his changing relationship with his father. I better not reprint it all because I'll get into trouble with the copyright police, but here's part. Lovely, isn't it.

I stumbled in his hobnailed 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 around 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.

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