En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Three Bares

Ma tried to wash her garden slacks but couldn't get 'em clean
And so she thought she'd soak 'em in a bucket o' benzine.
It worked all right. She wrung 'em out then wondered what she'd do
With all that bucket load of high explosive residue.
She knew that it was dangerous to scatter it around,
For Grandpa liked to throw his lighted matches on the ground.
Somehow she didn't dare to pour it down the kitchen sink,
And what the heck to do with it, poor Ma jest couldn't think.

Then Nature seemed to give the clue, as down the garden lot
She spied the edifice that graced a solitary spot,
Their Palace of Necessity, the family joy and pride,
Enshrined in morning-glory vine, with graded seats inside;
Jest like that cabin Goldylocks found occupied by three,
But in this case B-E-A-R was spelt B-A-R-E----
A tiny seat for Baby Bare, a medium for Ma,
A full-sized section sacred to the Bare of Grandpapa.

Well, Ma was mighty glad to get that worry off her mind,
And hefting up the bucket so combustibly inclined,
She hurried down the garden to that refuge so discreet,
And dumped the liquid menace safely through the centre seat.

Next morning old Grandpa arose; he made a hearty meal,
And sniffed the air and said: 'By Gosh! how full of beans I feel.
Darned if I ain't as fresh as paint; my joy will be complete
With jest a quiet session on the usual morning seat;
To smoke me pipe an' meditate, an' maybe write a pome,
For that's the time when bits o' rhyme gits jiggin' in me dome.'

He sat down on that special seat slicked shiny by his age,
And looking like Walt Whitman, jest a silver-whiskered sage,
He filled his corn-cob to the brim and tapped it snugly down,
And chuckled: 'Of a perfect day I reckon this the crown.'
He lit the weed, it soothed his need, it was so soft and sweet:
And then he dropped the lighted match clean through the middle seat.

His little grand-child Rosyleen cried from the kichen door:
'Oh, Ma, come quick; there's sompin wrong; I heared a dreffel roar;
Oh, Ma, I see a sheet of flame; it's rising high and higher...
Oh, Mummy dear, I sadly fear our comfort-cot's caught fire.'

Poor Ma was thrilled with horror at them words o' Rosyleen.
She thought of Grandpa's matches and that bucket of benzine;
So down the garden geared on high, she ran with all her power,
For regular was Grandpa, and she knew it was his hour.
Then graspin' gaspin' Rosyleen she peered into the fire,
A roarin' soarin' furnace now, perchance old Grandpa's pyre....

But as them twain expressed their pain they heard a hearty cheer----
Behold the old rapscallion squattinn' in the duck pond near,
His silver whiskers singed away, a gosh-almighty wreck,
Wi' half a yard o' toilet seat entwined about his neck....

He cried: 'Say, folks, oh, did ye hear the big blow-out I made?
It scared me stiff - I hope you-uns was not too much afraid?
But now I best be crawlin' out o' this dog-gasted wet....
For what I aim to figger out is----WHAT THE HECK I ET?'

poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bucket T

Bucket bucket t t, bucket t bucket t,
Bucket bucket t t, bucket t bucket t,
Bucket bucket t t, bucket t bucket t,
Found her in a barn in tennessee
I paid five bucks for my bucket t
Took me three years of sweat and blood
To clean off all that tennessee mud
Chorus:
My bucket t (bucket t)
Bucket t (bucket t)
My bucket t (bucket t)
My bucket t (bucket t)
T t t... bucket bucket bucket...
Cruise down the street in front of school
I wanna rev it up but I gotta be cool
Drivin down the road Ill get my kicks
Apoppin the clutch and aslippin the sticks
[chorus]
I was right, too, shes first in her class
Theres nothing on the freeway she dont pass
All the girls want to take a ride with me
But theres only one seat in my bucket t
[chorus]

song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Grandpa Orange Garden

From my grandpa Orange Garden
You can saw green orange leaf
all over the place
it fruits had started ripening

He frequently late going home
My grandma hit “Kentongan ”)
For going home soonly
But my grandpa workinghard
Forgotten to eat and drink, and going home

When he going home he saw the roof falling down
And black cloud seen in the sky
Quickly my grandfather took the ladder
Up to the roof and care the roof

For bettering their room
The rain fall from the sky
My grandpa walking down from teh roof
sleppy, and never wake up again
my grandma cried till morning
forgotten the orange fruit harvest
she embrace her husband slept strectched on the ground
in the meeting room
where children and grandchildren are gathering

to day you couldn’t seen the green leaf orange
the fresh orange leave the smeel in my reminiscences
the garden leave high and dry
no grandpa touch down at
the leafs through,
it stalks to let dryness
dryness and to wither
the dush fly everywhere
the house and garden is empty
only ghosts dwell in that house

I still remember
I fomerly run there
Among the orange stem trees
Under the orange leaf shady
His Only one message:
Don’t pick those oranges before ripe

Jakarta,6/29/2005

poem by Prasetya Utama
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Look At Granny Run Run

Look at granny run, run, and grandpa runnin close behind.
Look at granny run, run, theres something on grand-daddys mind.
He went to the doctor, got a brand new pill.
The doctor said, son, you aint over the hill.
Now he cant sit still.
Great, gosh, almighty, wont you ...
Look at granny go, go, faster than a greyhound bus.
Look at granny go, go, now grandpa gettin serious.
But he woke up in the middle of the night.
Said, lookie here baby, everythings alright.
It was such a fright.
Great, gosh, almighty, wont you ...
Look at granny run, run ...
Look at granny run, run, and grandpa gettin closer now.
No matter how she run, run, he gonna catch her anyhow.
He said, mama, quit your caryin on.
All I wants a little love before I am gone.
Aint nothin wrong.
Great, gosh, almighty, wont you ...
Look at granny run, run.
Look at granny run, run.
Yeah ...
Look at granny run, run.
Yeah ...
Look at granny run, run.
Yeah ...
Look at granny run, run.
Yeah ...
Look at granny run, run.
(to fade ...)

song performed by by Grand Funk Railroad
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grandpa Told Me So

(mark alan springer/james dean hicks)
If you dont get in the water youre never gonna learn to swim
He said a snake is just as scared of you as you are of him
He could tell by the moon when the fish would bite
Seems there was nothing that he didnt know
And as a kid I believed cause grandpa told me so
He talked daddy into letting me have my first car
I thought I was really something til becky thompson broke my heart
That first taste of love really did me in
Getting over her slow
And I knew someday I would cause grandpa told me so
He said life is made for you to live
The best love is the love that you give
Therell be times when you wanna hold on but you gotta let go
And I live by those words cause grandpa told me so
I promised him I wouldnt cry when it was his time to leave
Thats the only promise I made him I couldnt keep
He smiled from his bed and said well meet again
Somewhere down the road
And I believe cause grandpa told me so
He said life is made for you to live
The best love is the love that you give
Therell be times when you wanna hold on but you gotta let go
And I live by those words cause grandpa told me so
He said life is made for you to live
The best love is the love that you give
Therell be times when you wanna hold on but you gotta let go
And I live by those words cause grandpa told me so
Yeah and I still believe
Grandpa told me so
Grandpa told me so
I still believe
Grandpa told me so
I still believe...

song performed by by Kenny Chesney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Look At Granny Run Run

(j. ragovoy/m. shuman)
Said, look at granny run, run
Grandpa runnin close behind.
Look at granny run, run, ah... theres something on grand-daddys mind.
Because he went to the doctor, got a brand new pill.
The doctor said, son, you aint over the hill.
He cant sit still.
Great, gosh, almighty, wont you...
Look at granny run, run, faster than a greyhound bus. [granny, you better run]
Look at granny run, run, now grandpa is gettin serious. [somebodys calling you]
Well, he woke up in the middle of the night.
Said, look-a here baby, everythings alright.
It was such a sight
Great, gosh, almighty, wont ya...
Well, look at granny run, run
Grandpa runnin closer now.
No matter how she run, run, he gonna catch her anyhow.
Well, he jumped up and he began to shout
Granny come a-running with the mouth poked out
Said, look here, pretty mama, stop your carrying on
All I wants a little loving just before Im gone
Aint nothing wrong
Hear my lord, singing
Great, gosh, almighty
[you better run]
[somebodys calling you]
Look at granny run, run.
Well, I feel like my time aint [long], time aint [long] time aint [long]

song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grandpas Rocking Chair for M lady Chitra

On the front porch a rocking chair
nobody uses no one dare
Nor dare they move it anywhere.
Grandpa decreed it must stay there

What grandpa said was what he meant
he left no room for argument.
He simply stated his intent
Though other folk felt different

When Grandpa died the family tried
to set his iron rule aside
You’ll rue this day their Grandma cried
Your Grandpa will not be defied.

They moved the chair to show they could
though grandma did not think they should
She warned them all that nothing good
would come of this. She understood

although she knew Grandpa was dead.
She knew he’d rise in wrathful pride
to reinforce what he has said.
His last command before he died.

The chair was moved despite her pleas.
Her warnings were not listened to.
From that day on they knew no peace
Til grandma told them what to do

The rocking chair must be restored
to where Grandpa said it should be.
They all agreed of one accord
the chair replaced immediately.

Sometimes at night it seems to be
moving gently slowly rocking
Although there’s nothing they can see
they know that Grandpas visiting.

To see his word is still obeyed.
That no one moves his rocking chair.
Nobody will they’re too afraid.
They know sometimes he still sits there.

27-Oct-08

http: // blog.myspace.com/poetic piers

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Bucket Kicker

What rhymes with bucket?
'That depends.
Is the bucket empty?
And
Is there anyone kicking it? '

Let's say the bucket is full.
And it is being carried?
'In a Porshe?
Or a Mercedes? '

You know
Sometimes I wonder why,
I bother to ask you anything!

'Oh
So 'you're' the kicker?
That should be obvious.'

Why is it obvious now?
'Well,
If a bucket is struck by a kicker out of luck
And that bucket is not picked up,
That bucket struck aint worth
What's being dumped into it from an outhouse.'

What's an outhouse have to do with it?
'That's for you to figure out
That bucket I'm going to carry
Is going to be in the trunk of my limousine.'

Thank you.
But that doesn't rhyme with bucket

'My plucked duckets
In the trunk of a limo
Sitting filled to the brim
In my golden bucket
And your hands aint around
Or near enough to touch it
Uh, I don't know about you
But that sounds very poetic to me

And you can fuss and cuss,
While kicking your bucket all you want
Thank you for your inspiration.'

No problem.
I just know from now on
Not to ask you anything
'I'm cool with that
Bucket kicker.'

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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She Walks Outside Away

Old,
old man walks up to a little\large girl, lolly pops.
Inside,
she walks inside
after the grandpa pa 'said' sympathetic attention,
natural spurts her growth.
Attention is paid to the mask and
grandpa pa, must ask.
Grand-daughter 'dear' it is hardly a mask.
Seen by 'I' many are 'cut's' and deep smiles and
the moon is pale and full, hardly alone, come here.
But Grandpa pa it is only one swimming pool
high are the sides, no one can see, inside.
With my 'trusting' friends from school.
A small swimming pool, why a worry my mask?
Thinking 'she'
who the old imbecile and must he think it is.
Fresh, clean and full and
with the articles of they attention to my, around it;
They a swimming pool my attention obtained.
I observes them swim near it, curiously they holds it
like it swims under the water they hold it by the thighs.
Above its eyes of rising its legs are widespread
with far its bathing suit can stretch aside her skin of Y
which fingers
of rising movement on side, 'oh' dear O 'dear'
which one so many inside.
I am her grandpa pa\daughter see which one is he'
to make Y her legs are distant and they goes up on
the surface except her\them/him legs it strikes with
them\her/him, behind him/her\them and strikes
deep blows with him/her below it in she'
of Such young people thus to know this, they look
by the mask they don't stay, off To long inside,
fifteen minutes or about thus enough of time of her/them
to amuse and glance fixes at it,
of lower part, one looks inside, she laughs, I am angry.
I am to old for this and
what can I do, she will hate me.I can no longer control her.

poem by Is It Poetry
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I'm My Own Grandpa

It was many many years ago when I was twenty-three,
I was married to a widow, she's as pretty as can be.
This widow had a grown-up daughter who had hair of red,
my father fell in lover with her, and soon these two were wed.

I'm my own grandpa, I'm my own grandpa.
It sounds silly, I know, but it really is so, oh
I'm my own grandpa.

This made my dad my son-in-law and changed my very life:
My daughter was my mother 'cause she was my father's wife.
And then to complicate the matter, though it brought me joy,
I soon became the father of a bouncing baby boy.

This bouncing baby then became a brother-in-law to dad,
and so became my uncle, though it made me very sad,
for if he was my uncle then he also was the brother
of the widow's grown-up daughter, who, of course, was my step-mother.

I'm my own grandpa, I'm my own grandpa.
It sounds silly, I know, but it really is so, oh
I'm my own grandpa.

Father's wife then had a son who kept them on the run.
And he became my grandchild, for he was my daughter's son.
My wife is now my mother's mother, and it makes me blue,
because although she is my wife, she's my grandmother, too.

Now if my wife is my grandmother, then I am her grandchild.
And every time I think of it, it nearly drives me wild.
For now I have become the strangest case you ever saw.
Husband of my grandmother, I am my own grandpa.

I'm my own grandpa, I'm my own grandpa.
It sounds silly, I know, but it really is so, oh
I'm my own grandpa.

poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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I Wish I Could

I wish I could tell you I love you
I wish I could take back those times I did not
But I can't and I never can
I wish I could take back those times that I was mean
That I had an attitude
But I can't and I never can
I realized to late what you mean to me
Grandpa I love you
Grandpa I miss you….I'm sorry for my tears

You saved me from the orphanage where you were forced to go
You saved my baby brother's life but I never said thank you
Grandpa I love you
Grandpa I miss you…..I'm sorry for my tears

I can never again hug you
I can only see your smile in your pictures
I can never ask about the wars you fought in
I can never hear your stories again
Grandpa I love you
Grandpa I miss you…….I'm sorry for my tears
I wish I could tell you I love you
But I can never do it again

poem by Rachel Dowd
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That's How We Met!

I once met a woman from Nantucket.
Who wanted me to add fluid in her bucket...

'GRANDPA? ? ? '

You asked me to recite a poem!
You kids don't know what you want.

'Yeah,
But grandpa...
Comeon.
You've got to have more on your mind,
Besides sex! '

SEX?
You kids are sumthin' else!
Who in the hell's talking about sex?
That woman just happens to have been your grandmother.
She sucked some gasoline out of my car,
To get her own started.
Using a hose.
I had never seen that before.
That's how we met!
And sex was the furthest thing from our minds.

'Oh yeah?
Well...
How did my mother get here? '

On a TRAIN!
How many times do I have to tell you that! ?

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Garden

I know a garden like a child,
Clean and new-washed and reconciled.
It grows its own sweet way, yet still
Has guidance of some tender will
That clips, confines, its wilder mood
And makes it happy, being good.

Around the lordly mountains stand,
For this is an enchanted land,
As though their splendours stood to grace
This little lovely garden place,
Looking with wise and keeping eyes
Upon the garden sanctities.

Box borders edge each little bed,
Paths narrow for a child to tread
Divide the kitchen garden, dear
And sweet with musk and lavender,
And water-mints and beans in bloom.
Be sure the honeybee's at home.

How should I tell in a sweet list
Of beauties, rose and amethyst;
The little water-garden cool
On sultry days, and beautiful
The wall-garden, the shade, the sun,
Since they are lovely, every one.

Hot honey of the pines is sweet,
And when the day's at three o'clock heat
A winding walk will you invite
To a new garden out of sight.
And a green seat is set so near
The sluggish, stealing backwater.

The Spirit of the garden plays
At hide-and-seek an hundred ways
And when you've captured her, she will
Elude you, calling backward still,
A silver echo -- a sweet child,
Demure and lovesome, gay and wild.

poem by Katharine Tynan
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The Fish Pound and Violin

My grandpa stay in the house
Near the river
Where its water flow end in the South Ocean

His garden hedged with Bamboo trees
In front of the garden planted three tuft trees
The children like to climb the tuft tree
Pick up the fruits and eat on the tree
Glad and laughing
My grandpa was silent and said nothing
He just smile subtly, and gaze at far away

There is a fish pond in the backyard,
In its edge planted pineapple and banana trees
My grandma always give brand and papaya leaf to the pound
Giving food for the fish like Gurame, Sepat dan Nila,
While my grandpa make a biola, gitar and bass
In the litlle studio, near the kitchen
I passionatedly gaze the fish jump around
And glad
While they don’t know their destiny
Decided by mothers in the cities
On the frying pan, roastibng, caserate,
With imagine to ecpanced their plan on the rice filed
Near the road forgeted how farmer produce,
Fish, rice and vegetable,
And actually
Their Self conscience.

poem by Prasetya Utama
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Home Is Myself

long ago
i was unwanted
grandpa
never praised me
though i worked
hard
even for
one word, perhaps

love or
even a pat on my shoulder
which i never
really had

papa i remember
bought me
a toy chopper
but that was just
once

he was not drunk
when he played with me
in the garden

when you feel unwanted
you do not
have friends
you have nothing good to say

it was early
for me to learn that
dying can be good

i never speak to anyone
about it

i only speak to myself
because i have
no choice

i love isolation
it becomes a way of life

never had a best friend
never had a circle of
friends

as a matter of consequence
i become too independent
complete in myself
and had always been
a survivor

despair is an everyday word
so i was no longer
afraid.

today people want me
call me by my name
and praise me, but

it is too late then
i do not need it anymore

when grandpa died all those near me
cried and mourned for days

i keep my usual distance
wear my tinted sunglasses
and walk myself
all alone back home

home is myself
my heart.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Silver Dollar

You gave me something, grandpa
A coin of silver - flat and round
But it doesn't whirr or whistle
It cannot make a sound

It is not marked with 'China'
On a toy that is a must
It only bears this simple line
'U.S.A In God We Trust'

This thing you gave me grandpa
Of this there is no doubt
It doesn't laugh and giggle
When I push it in and out

It has no pretty colors
No buttons or a bow
It makes no noise or vibrate
No volume 'high' or 'low'

So of what good is it grandpa
This shiny little thing?
What fun will come with having it
What laughter will it bring?

I tell you this, my loving one
My grandchild oh so dear
The truth about this silver coin
That you might wish to hear

Now take up the silver coin
Travel back in time with me
And think of those who owned it
In your mind now can you see?

To touch the silver dollar
And to make the feeling last
Is to touch all those who held it
And to touch the history past

To hold it and to feel it
Is to hold the spirits trapped therein
To think of where it lingered
And to wonder where its been

When we think of those who owned it
Then we think of those who tried
To give you all you wish for
From the toil for which they died

Well, I'll tell you of this silver coin
And how it comes to you
From a mine in Colorado
Or the mountains of Peru

Perhaps it's silver touched The Inca
Upon his emerald crown
Or was inlaid in the Spanish sword
That brought the empire down

Valley Forge or Flanders Field
Or perhaps on Concord Green
At Shiloh Church or Gettysburg
Who knows what the silvers' seen?

The silver out of which it's made
It self has witnessed much
But then a coin from it was made
And again felt history's touch

On a birthday or a Christmas
Perhaps it bought a little toy
And delighted those who got it
A little frontier girl or boy

A whiskey for a cowboy
In some small Texas town
Who had to wash away the trail dust
So he laid this dollar down

A Yank or Rebel soldier
Might have held it in his hand
A groom may have used this dollar
To buy his loved one's wedding band

It may just have been there
That day when all seemed lost
When fire rained down on Hawaii's Pearl
Perhaps this dollar saw the cost

Of what use is this silver coin?
Oh, my princess, don't you see?
That what I give you with this gift
Is a piece of history

poem by William Bayless
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Can Can Dancer Gran.

I used to be a dancer
during World War 1
your paternal grandmother said

as she sat next to you
on the seat in her
back garden in London

and your grandfather
would come and watch
with his army friends

and afterwards
he'd come
to the stage door

with flowers or chocolates
or just stand there
with that awestruck look

on his face
and she looked
at the flowers

that your grandfather grew
along both sides
of the garden

and she smiled and said
Look at him now
sits in the same room

and says nothing
or moans about the bills
or how the country is run

or the noise of the traffic
by the front gate
and you sat there

on the seat
in the back garden
in your new suit

and with your hair
cropped short
and that fifteen year old

I'm bored as hell look
on your face and you said
Why did you give up dancing

you must have been good at it?
and as you looked
at your grandmother

with her white frizzy hair
and stocky build
you couldn't imagine her

as a dancer on a stage
with men gawping at her
especially not your soft spoken

quiet grandfather
who sat in his armchair
by the fireside

in a silent mood
occasionally reading a book
or giving that

I've seen too much
of mankind's foolery
kind of look

and your grandmother said
Well after we got married
I fell for your uncle Fred

and beside I wasn't that good
a dancer and your
grandfather didn't want

a wife of his
to be peered at
or have her legs

gawked at
by other men
and then she was silent

and watched
a white butterfly
go by

fluttering its wings
but
she said softly

getting up
from the seat
and doing a small

Can Can dance
the shows not over
until the fat lady sings.

poem by Terry Collett
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A/C Luxury bus

A/C Luxury bus,
Got seat to sit,
Window seat!

A/C Luxury bus,
Exorbitant charges,
No seat to sit!

Air-conditioned Luxury bus,
Very high bus ticket fare,
Comfortable seat!

poem by V.K. Kanniappan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Old Upright Piano

For as long as I remember, when friday night came round
The family would gather out at grandpas house.
With supper over and the dishes done
It was then the best time came
At an old upright piano that only grandma played.
She played beautiful dreamer, my wild irish rose;
She never played em perfect, but there was love in every note.
Grandpa sat beside her, in harmony they sang,
At the old upright piano that only grandma played.
Grandpa was a stubborn man, they said it was his style.
Grandma called him ornery, but she said it with a smile.
Even he could not disguise the love he felt so strong;
We all could see it in his eyes when she played his favorite song.
She played beautiful dreamer, my wild irish rose;
She never played em perfect, but there was love in every note.
Grandpa sat beside her, in harmony they sang,
At the old upright piano that only grandma played.
I was almost 17 when my grandma died;
I stayed all night with grandpa; the old man never cried.
He sat at her piano, there was nothing we could say
It was the first time in my life I ever heard my grandpa play.
It wasnt beautiful dreamer or my wild irish rose
It was a song he played from memory & he never missed a note
I sat right there beside him until the morning came
What a friend we have in jesus was the only song he played.
She played beautiful dreamer, my wild irish rose;
She never played em perfect, but there was love in every note.
Grandpa sat beside her, in harmony they sang,
At the old upright piano that only grandma played.

song performed by by Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Four Walls

(Don Rollins / Harry Stinson / D. Vincent Williams)
My grandpa farmed for a livin'
Content to live the simpler kind of life
My grandma worked in the kitchen
Awfully proud to be that farmers wife.
Chorus:
They use to say
That they got everything that they need
Each morning they wake up
Four walls, three words, two hearts, one love.
Here I am, ring on my finger
Grandpa's little grandson all grown up
I found my rock, and I plan to keep her
I wish they were here to see the two of us.
Chorus:
They'd be proud to know
We've got everything that we need
Each morning we wake up
Four walls, three words, two hearts, one love.
With the highway twice as wide
And the farmlands have divided
It's good to know that something never changes
I'm still lovin' and I'm still livin'
By those simple words of wisdom
Life and love come down to just four things.
My grandpa, Lord knows I miss him
And the way that he and grandma looked at life
And each day I count my blessings
To have that kind of love here by my side.
Chorus:
No matter what
We know we got everything that we need
Each morning we wake up
Four walls, three words, two hearts, one love.
We've got everything we need
Between the two of us
Four walls, three words, two hearts, one love...

song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bouncing Pony

Joey is an adventurous little boy
A bouncing pony is his birthday present
Grandpa Joe’s heart is filled with joy.

Let me help you into the saddle to enjoy
Youthful squeals eagerly express intent
Joey is an adventurous little boy

Into the stirrups Joey’s feet are employed
Energy is engaged one hundred percent
Grandpa Joe’s heart is filled with joy.

Reins are grasped by a miniature cowboy…
The eager steed bolts and away they went
Joey is an adventurous little boy.

The spirits of two generations join as one…
Their smiles and laughter are frequent
Grandpa Joe’s heart is filled with joy.

Motion slows as Joey dismounts and runs
Bouncing onto Grandpa’s lap and giving a hug
Joey is an adventurous little boy
Grandpa Joe’s heart is filled with joy.

(9/10/07)

poem by Theresa Ann Moore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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