My grandfather died tonight.

We had gone to his Foundry.

We lunched and he took a nap.

It was 1951.

The papers said he was a kind man.

Crediting his success, he was honest and considerate of all his friends.

The obituary of my grandfather

Was so matter of fact yet not sad.

He lived and died and now survives

In the wakings of our lives.

A Sunday suit of clothes,

A watch and chain and eyes

That clearly know,

We are here for the passing,

Never meant for forever more

As love is our only asking,

As love is our heart’s full store

And if one has a need of knowing

Seeds of love are never cold

For in all our stories told

Only the strong are gentle

Enough to hold

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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