An Irish boy’s eyes – fastidious, never, ever rooted to any particular spot
Peculiar rather
Had to nudge on over somewhat upon the living room couch – muster on up the live-long courage to stubbornly question his forlorn father
“Why, oh why Seamus Heaney though!?”
Because, you see, this silently prolific mad man can, and will, steal your ‘constant reader’ gaze… your seemingly everything all inside of one such heartbeat
Was that explanation enough? Never, ever of a school-boy day
Trial by error
“Why so crazy though!!?”
Because, you see, he figured it all out oh so wonderfully and long before it ever really occurred… cannot say fairer than that, can you
He can, and he will!!
Truly, this teenage son longed to tip his hat to just one man or other but it was not there
That stir inside of his cumbersome soul he’d heard plenty about nowhere near where it really should be, nonetheless seemingly curdling right at the brim
“‘Between my finger and my thumb…
The squat pen rests; snug as a gun,’ have you not read that one, son?”
No he hadn’t managed to do that, either way the nostalgia-driven flavour just not there yet
Ill at ease, typically unprepared…
“Seems to me you’ll need to dig a little deeper then.”

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