Father's Day

(Grandfather by Paul Wright, born 1973,
English artist)

“The words a father speaks to his children in the privacy of the home,” wrote the German novelist Jean-Paul Richter (1763-1825), “are not overheard at the time, but, as in whispering galleries, they will be clearly heard at the end and by posterity.”

FATHER, WHERE DO THE WILD SWANS GO?

Father, where do the wild swans go?
Far, far. Ceaselessly winging,
Their necks outstraining, they haste them singing
Far, far. Whither, none may know.

Father, where do the cloud-ships go?
Far, far. Then winds pursue them,
And over the shining heaven strew them
Far, far. Whither, none may know.

Father, where do the days all go?
Far, far. Each runs and races,
No one can catch them, they leave no traces
Far, far. Whither, none may know.

But Father, we ‒ where do we then go?
Far, far. Our dim eyes veiling,
With bended head we go sighing, wailing
Far, far. Whither, none may know.

~ Ludvig Holstein, 1864-1943, Danish poet