Read the poem and answer the following questions Sundays too my father got up early and put his clothes on in the blue-black 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?

Have the poet's thoughts, regarding his father, changed in the present times?

Yes  No  Maybe Cannot say

Yes

The poet feels regretful regarding his behavior with his father. He feels apologetic for being indifferent towards his father.