I’ve worked there for three years,
Three months, five days,
The countless hours.

Today I helped train in
The local boy, my replacement.
Whose job it’ll be to greet the faces,
Know the places, running
His own course of countless hours.

Chatting with old Donie,
The farming man from Rathlogan,
Scrubbing the dirt from the old worn mats,
Arranging the bottles
In order for countless hours.

Walking home in sunlight’s haze,
An amber glow, and then in utter blackness
Always watching the fields,
Trees, children at play, at ease – anything.
I had countless hours.

But I’ve stumbled you see – realised
Before me is a calendar. Marked.
Now this chunk of life it owns me,
Faces, spaces and traces –
A mind of countless hours.

To the new boy, I say:
Take your calendar, there.
Place it where you see it daily, yet
Ignore it. Work smoothly,
Stack orderly, enjoy always your countless hours.

I’ve worked here for three years,
Three months, five days,
Those countless hours.


April 29th 2006

Seán O Muiríosa

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/countless-hours/