GRANDPA

..

In my hands I hold a booklet,

Small and blue and rather thin,

But I venture not to measure,

All the wealth contained herein.

..

I'm the grandchild of the gentle

Hand who etched upon its page,

Countless words of love and comfort..

Rich and beautiful with age.

..

Words that fall like leaves in Autumn

On the heart as in a rhyme,

Forming couplets as they're drifting

Into tiny piles of time.

..

Words that smell of homemade biscuits,

Or the forest after rain --

Like the joy brought forth from sorrow

Or the wisdom born of pain.

..

Words that speak of one man's story,

As they reach across the years.

Cherished verses call and beckon,

Drenched with laughter - warm with tears.

..

How I savor every lyric

By this quiet candle light.

How I feel the gentle motion

Of his rocking chair tonight.

..

It's as if I almost touch him,

Through his triumphs and his strife,

And I feel a kinship with him,

That I never knew in life.

--

Victoria 1983

Painting: Girl Reading -by Justin