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Conversations with my father
Bittersweet and maybe sad
Conversations with my father
Talks that we never had
Companionably silent
As we set off walking
Neither of us known
For doing too much talking
Down Lambwath road
To Billy Bulson's farm
Each with a broken 12 bore
Tucked safely underarm
I was at his hospital bedside
On the day that he died
Only alone in the car
Did I give in and cry
I am just about that age
And like him slowing down
Maybe that's the reason now
I feel him there and around
We talk about the garden
Always his joy and pride
He was never the man
To spend his time inside
We talk of this and that
In our lazy easy way
And I suppose we chat now
Nearly every single day
Maybe it's because I'm older
That much nearer the other end
But there we sit and chat
Like two good old friends
Conversations with my father
Bitter sweet and maybe sad
Conversations with my father
Talks I wish we'd really had

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