the Walker

I met my father, on
the hill of the road,
at kilmashogue.
he was striding down from
his mountain walk
and I ascending.

his sunday stroll
and he was fit then
'take it easy, I will see you later'.
I recall now, his own age,
that same turn and stride,
as I showed him into his sick bed,
and then his resting place.

on that turn, at kilmashogue,
Just there, at the mill ruin,
the new Columba gate,
life goes fast
and generations pass.