a memory of my father

a worker in brass, my father was.
in felt, and silver, too:
a sax is then a different thing
for me as (prob’ly) you

for hours and hours out in his shop —
i still recall it clear —
my father would work with bits of brass,
and make music
appear

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

4 thoughts on “a memory of my father”

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