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On your knee
The story behind the poem
My father is now eighty-six years old. My earliest
recollection is of sitting on his knee when he came home from work.
He is not a complicated man, having left school at thirteen years of
age with no qualifications. He was an immensely strong man in his
prime, but had (and still has) a lovely gentle kindness about him.
He is simple like the rain, and was then and shall remain forever to
me, a hero of the greatest kind.
I have never told him to his face how much he has meant to me, and
for a reason I do not understand myself, probably never will.
I think he knows.
by Stephen Hirons Read the poem
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