those winter sundays

those winter sundayse by robert hayden was an interesting piece. it was between that and reading habits, and reading habits was way too weird for my taste. in this poem by robert hayden there are no real symbols, no mysticism, no hidden truths. this poem is simply about an event, or better yet, a simingly reoccuring event that happened in haydens life a lot it seems.

in the poem hayden talks about his father and how he has been weathered down by the hard work and labor that he has had to endure in his life and how no one seems to thank him. it is quite funny how a provider of life and comfort through swet and blood gets absolutely no thanks. it unfortunately reminds me of my father and how no one would really give him any thanks eventhough he worked a really hard job, and how the job seemed to ice him over like the characters father.

the character talks about speaking indifferntly to his father, which i have been guilty of...i try not to, but in my case its difference so i feel no pity for the father in this poem and how his child is indifferent, he probably the deserves the indifference.