The picture is still with me
of the last time that I saw you,
struggling to recall just who I was.
And I remember how the tears welled up
when later all alone
I finally felt the impact of my loss.
We always say, if only
about chances that we've missed
but we really only have ourselves to blame.
all the things we took for granted,
all the seeds we could have planted,
Just wasted... with excuses that were lame.
What's left to me is treasured
and when possible, passed on
for others to enjoy as much as I.
The crushing shake of hand,
the penny whistle band,
the funny songs and humour quick and dry...
Pirate galleons made of shoes
and ignited with a fuse,
these are moments that I'll have until I die.
Lawn mowers at arm's length,
an amazing feat of strength,
yet the image that has followed me through life
was the constant round of teasing,
much to everybody's pleasing,
of an armless man and a paring knife.
Tho' there's many more I could recount
what matters here is not amount
but how to tell you what they mean to me.
It is selfish now, I know,
to wish for recognition... so
I guess what ere will be will be.
Gramp, it's one hundred years today
and I won't be there to say
Happy Birthday, congratulations and so on.
But if there's a chance you do recall
let me thank you now for all
those many years ... love,
your grandson....................
YOU ARE READING
Poems Primarily Narrative (or not)
PoesíaFIRST PLACE COFFEE AFTER DARK WRITING CONTEST - JULY 2020 This collection has no particular category or message. They are errant thoughts and observations on various subjects. If interested, I hope you find some you enjoy.