Every old man I see Reminds me of my father When he had fallen in love with death One time when sheaves were gathered. That man I saw in Gardiner Street Stumble on the kerb was one, He stared at me half-eyed, I might have been his son. And I remember the musician Faltering over his fiddle In Bayswater, London. He too set me the riddle. Every old man I see In October-coloured weather Seems to say to me "I was once your father."