A ruffled mind makes a restless pillow. - Charlotte Bronte


Sitting and waiting, for something, for what? Something to happen and something to not. The mind tends to wander but feet they do stay. I don't like the changes, I don't like the way, that the battle line closes in more every day! Your army is tired, its weary, it groans. You can't let them see you as it beats you down. You want remembered as stoic and proud, the grandad who pushed the swing far from the ground. Log fires, Pizza and Ice Cream all round! The father who always came sharp to our aid, but not too much, as character has to be made. For how long we have you, right now we know not, But I'm so scared of losing the who and the what. I took you for granted, you'd always be there, Grandad, father, someone to care. I wish that I could make it all go away if just for a minute, an hour, a day. We would have dinner, al fresco, your grandkids would play, we'd chat, watch a movie then go on our way. I hope that we get to, if just one more time. You could laugh at this poem, to long, too much rhyme. One day it will happen, you won't be here. Yes, it will pain us, but for you no more fear. We have so many memories, each one brings a tear, but we will have those moments, all the time you'll be near.

© SLB1982


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