Those Winter Sundays

Robert Hayden's "Those Winter Sundays" reminds me of my Grandpa from my younger days. He talks of his father getting up early on Sundays and my Grandpa would always be up early on Sundays. In the summer time he would take us kids fishing and I remember his hands, just as described in the poem as he would hook the worm, dry cracked and weather from working the farm and the store. I can see the No on ever thanked him line in the Death of a Salesman...I kind of feel like Willy felt he worked a thankless job. He traveled and sold and we still doing the same job with no thanks from the company. Maybe this is how the young boy felt in the story, the A&P, were he quit? 

Then in the poem he talks about waking up when the house is warm, the work that the father did is to warm the house for his family. Maybe a job were you aren't thanked, but certainly not thankless. And the last part of the poem; what did I know, what did I know of loves austere and lonely offices? I think this is what Willy in The Death of a Salesman maybe felt his whole life, like something was missing the whole time, when in the poem, and for my Grandpa, it is the love you feel from a loving family.