Friday, January 9, 2009

Gramps

He's always been there
like a tree whose roots
run old and deep

Gramps
who claps his hands
on his knees;
who takes video
of the rose bushes in bloom

Gramps
whose tummy-clock
keeps a dependable rhythm;
who always has
the right tool for the moment

He roams the house
ever humming
ever looking for some device
in need of repair

He shows his love
in racking leaves
in fetching the mail
in a smile and a chuckle

Gramps
whose stories and life are a
slow and steady presence in mine

His testimony is undiminished
even as his candle burns and flickers
at it's end.

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