Follower is often considered one of his finest poems, not just for its exploration of familial love but also for its depiction of admiration and respect. In this poem, Heaney reflects on his relationship with his father, a farmer, whose skill in plowing the fields is described with reverence and awe.

The poem begins with the speaker’s childhood admiration for his father’s expertise in the field, “The Sod was a push of the spade,” and the vivid imagery of him following in his father’s footsteps. However, as Heaney matures, the roles reverse, and he comes to realize that his father, now aging, needs support. The shift in perspective is a powerful expression of love—both filial and unspoken—showing the deep respect Heaney has for his father’s hard work and the ways in which love evolves over time.

Follower is not just a tribute to a father’s labor but a love poem that celebrates the passage of time and generational bonds.

My father worked with a horse-plough,

His shoulders globed like a full sail strung

Between the shafts and the furrow.

The horses strained at his clicking tongue.

An expert. He would set the wing

And fit the bright steel-pointed sock.

The sod rolled over without breaking.

At the headrig, with a single pluck

Of reins, the sweating team turned round

And back into the land. His eye

Narrowed and angled at the ground,

Mapping the furrow exactly.

I stumbled in his hobnailed wake,

Fell sometimes on the polished sod;

Sometimes he rode me on his back

Dipping and rising to his plod.

I wanted to grow up and plough,

To close one eye, stiffen my arm.

All I ever did was follow

In his broad shadow round the farm.

I was a nuisance, tripping, falling,

Yapping always. But today

It is my father who keeps stumbling

Behind me, and will not go away