GRANDPA
GrandPa
In memory he comes to me
A man so wrinkled
lines deep from years of toil
His face so gentle
His spirit free
His room was lit by a lamp of oil
He lived in one room of a small abode
Everything he owned was there
I would wonder what happened to his things of old
But for that He seemed not to care
As I walked into his room
I left the world I knew behind
For the magic that this place held for me
was one so few will ever find
On the wall, above the bed
just hanging on a nail
Was a cross made out of wood
I remember it so well
So simple in its form, hanging on that wall
It said to me... here, there can be no harm
To the great or small
I would venture in, not quite sure, what was expected of me
He Sat in a wooden chair
I kneeled beside his knee
His reading glasses were made of wire
He'd place them slowly on
I would think, ah, He will read to me
till time I must go home
The Bible that he read from
Was old and worn with age
He always very carefully
Turned from page to page
When his old eyes grew too weak to see
He opened, still, this great book
and read from memory
His voice is a whisper now
but I can hear so clear
The words he read so long ago
Today, I still hold dear
~by~
sunysmile
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Poem Copyrighted © 1999 2000
music playing by Vince Gill: High Upon The Mountain