My Father, a poem by Arthur Adlen and read by Mike Ainscough
My father
My father used to smell of work,
of bricks and mortar, wood and earth.
His hands looked like wood, weathered and rough,
strong when he held me and gentle to touch…
Arthur Adlen died on 17th September 2018.
Arthur’s website: Arthur Adlen
Read the review of Arthur’s book of poetry Memoirs of a Breck Road Buck
Hear Arthur’s poems previously broadcast here
Buy Arthur’s book at News from Nowhere
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This was a difficult poem to read has I never knew my own Father. ( he was killed in action during the second world war) and had last held me 13 months before when I was 3 months old.