Grandfathers
© Keith Osborne
The lines upon my Grandfather’s face
Were a map of his hard life.
His formal education was brief
His mind as sharp as a knife.
His poker face gave nothing away
But with his eyes, he smiled,
He greeted me with a warm embrace
So proud of his first grandchild.
He’d lift me high up into the air
And sit me on his shoulder,
These memories ever more Precious
Each day that I grow older.
I followed his every single step
It would seem so right somehow,
We split the kindling and lit the stove,
Gathered eggs and milked the cow.
When he spoke it was in a mumble
And he barely moved his lips,
But it paid to listen very hard
Coz his wit as dry as chips.
He’d often slip in a funny line
Without a break in his pace,
‘Cut a hole in the seat of your pants,
To keep the flies off your face.’
He told you straight what was on his mind
No time for etiquette rules,
Social graces were never his thing
And he had no time for fools.
‘I’m not going to her funeral’,
In earnest, I heard him shout.
‘Best bury that old bitch facing down,
To be sure she can’t scratch out.’
His front yard was always manicured,
Each plant grew how it was meant,
Lavender bush lined every path
Filling the air with its scent.
And still to this day the slightest hint,
Of lavender in the air,
I’m taken right back some 60 years
And I’ll see him standing there.
Now, my alarm clock has changed,
Now a face pat or shake,
It makes the sweet sound of
“Hey Pop, are you awake?”.
It goes off so early,
Still no hint of the sun.
But giving us a chance
For getting stuff done.
Two of us for breakfast,
The wooden bench we sit,
Talking weighty matters,
Like toys and new sandpit.
Each day brings surprises,
I love to watch him grow.
Now my walk in the bush
Is with grandson in tow.
It seems time now moves on
Ever-increasing pace.
I become more aware
I’ve run most of my race.
With his whole life ahead
Such a fine man will grow
And I won’t share it all
But I would like to know.
