He walked alone with the future
packed in his rail thin body
down the long road to Cork,
in his bloodstream my life,
my daughters and grandson,
my sister, her children and grandchildren
taking us to a place he had never seen,
sure it was better than where he’d been.
He wasn’t much of a dreamer
though some spark
must have kept him walking,
to bring the story he was given
to the place it could be written,
holding on so fiercely
to the touch of providence
that was his.