Poems Primarily Narrative (or not)

MY GRANDFATHER

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....................