Those Winter Sundays - Summary and Theme of The Poem

Those Winter Sundays Sundays too my father got up early and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold, then with cracked hands that ached from labor in the weekday weather made banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him. I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking. When the rooms were warm, he’d call, and slowly I would rise and dress, fearing the chronic angers of that house, Speaking indifferently to him, who had driven out the cold and polished my good shoes as well. What did I know, what did I know of love’s austere and lonely offices? Those Winter Sundays Summary My father would also wake up early on Sunday mornings and get dressed in the freezing cold. With his rough, aching hands—worn from his job as a manual labourer who worked outside—he would light fires in the house. None of us ever said thank you to him for doing this. Soon after, I'd wake up and hear the walls and floorboards creaking as the cold left them. Once the house was all warmed up, my father would call me down. I'd g…