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.