Grandpa's Door
There's a road of sand and gravel winding,
to my Grandpa's front door;
Once, I made the journey often,
but seldom go there any more.
His words of wisdom haunt me,
the words he would so carefully impart:
I cherished everything he told me,
and held them closely in my heart.
A man of few words and steady,
a man who was always strong,
A man of whom I loved to be near;
with tales interesting, and sometimes, long.
His days were hard and simple,
but to complain? Nah, he never would.
His work was never finished,
he labored for long hours,
getting done all that he could.
As I visit the old homeplace,
I still see him bent, and busy with his chores.
His life may have been plain and simple,
but is something unwitnessed anymore.
He would stop whatever he was doing, to sit and listen for awhile;
Then, pick up his hat and pat it, and give me a big smile.
Back to work, he would continue,
before the set of sun,
his work was always before him,
and just seemed never to get done.
~ © Sandra Lewis Pringle ~
