~The Poet’s Poet~
That smile, those crinkled lines about your face
Moving to the rhythm of your beating heart
Always humming that happy tune
As a child he recalls sitting in awe of grandma
How she could light up a room with that smile
Grandma was one for keeping letters
I can’t throw that away she’d tell granddad
He’d just scratch his head, make no reply
Granddad loved the great outdoors
During long hot summer days
We’d lie off on a hay rick
Bask under a cloudless sky
He’d tell all sorts of stories
Then once it was time for home
He’d say, clapping his hands, not a word to grandma.
In the silence of the night
Grandma and granddad could be heard having a goodnight chat
Then once they knelt to pray
It was time to drift off into slumber land.
One wonders what they would make of today’s world
Zen and Feng Shui, a place for everything and everything in it place
Tommy rot that’s what granddad would say
Among all the clutter he always knew where to find the necessary tool.
Where grandma who was quite house proud in her own way
Would never go on the warpath if she couldn’t find items in an instant
God is good she’d say if it’s to be found it’ll turn up.
© Chris Black. February 2019
#Poetry #amwriting #thegoodoldtimes