Grandpa
Growing things and knowing things,
Was mostly what he did,
At least that’s how it seemed
When I was just a kid.
I recall seeing grandpa,
Snoring lightly in his chair,
That point seemed so far from me,
But now I believe I’m there.
I recall how he’d fuss,
About the rising costs of things,
Now I feel the same disbelief,
Which the cash register brings.
I recall his words and phrases,
Which then to me seemed quaint,
Now I sound just like him,
Though the vernacular grows faint.
I remember all his songs,
And the stories he would tell,
I still recall his laughter,
And how his pipe did smell.
He was always handy,
When I needed some advice,
In a forgetful moment,
He might sometimes tell me twice.
But I was always glad to listen,
And I value all I learned,
Now in this strange new world today,
I’m often back there turned.
Growing things and knowing things,
Seems all I’m fit for now,
I ruminate on days gone by,
As I walk behind the plow.
I move among the younger set,
And I sometimes feel my age,
And feel I’ve become the grandfather,
The ancient weathered sage.
Please don’t let me become a relic,
Of some long forgotten day,
Nor to be fossilized,
And set in my ways.
For the old man is long gone now,
His like no more to see,
But I sure hope some his goodness,
Now lives on in me.
