Spring Grandfather Poems | Spring Poems About Grandfather
These Spring Grandfather poems are examples of Spring poems about Grandfather. These are the best examples of Spring Grandfather poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.
“My grandfather was strong and mighty, till he died at age of ninety.
The clock then stopped to run no more.
Then one of my relations wrote a song, sung for generations.
I think of it more and more:
“My grandfather’s clock was too large for the shelf,
So it stood ninety years on the floor.
It was taller by half than the old man himself,
Though it weighed not a penny-weight more . . .”
Shaken from his quaint digression, his face in tense expression,
He renewed his dire obsession
About what made the clock strike in the night.
He slipped to the room adjacent, above an empty basement,
Where stood the clock’s encasement – opened so very slight.
Moving with stealth, and in no hurry,
He saw an object hunched and furry;
His cat stood vigil in the night, with eyes reflecting light.
A mouse, the cat had faced, into the clock was chased,
And up the pendulum raced, quickly taking flight.
Climbing the clock’s encasement, the mouse’s weight displacement,
Tripped the spring so tight; it struck with awesome might!
Striking twelve it had numbered, his muddled thoughts encumbered,
Scared awake from slumber in the night.
“All of this is so confusing, could I, these years be using
The clock with spring so tight?”
In his mental delusion he added to the confusion,
For this intrusion in the night.
There was nothing he couldn’t handle
With his shotgun on the mantle by the door,
With it he could surely even up the score.
With the menace looming bigger, he quickly pulled the trigger
Then the grandfather clock was no more
And the cat and mouse— a taxidermy chore.
Copyright © James Tate
An unbearable pain awaits her;
For my beloved who is to bear.
A man cannot know this
Even when Daddy is there.
Hope may spring eternal
But it cannot quench the fire
Of the fruit of the labor
Spawned from our heart’s desire.
I think to myself...
When will it be time?
It is then that Grandfather Clock gives
My daughter her very first chime.
She gasps her first breath
Blessing us with her first cry.
She is born new and alive!
And all she knows is time.
Next door is a boy of few moons
Who hasn’t seen a single sun.
Born before his time
Most think his life is already done.
Don’t tell that to his mother
Don’t you even dare!
For she sees the clock.
She is fully aware!
She thinks to herself
“It is not my baby’s time to go!”
But within minutes
His Bell will sadly toll.
He gasps his last breath
And His mother begins to cry.
...Even as an Innocent of Grace
All his Mother feels is time.
A man of many moons
Is seeing the setting sun.
Living beyond his time
The man know his race is won.
Hope will spring eternal
And so will his life.
Not for his good fruit of labor
But from Another’s toil and strife.
He thinks to himself
It is now my time!
And with that, Grandfather Clock gives
My friend his very last chime.
He sips his final breath
But blesses us with a final smile.
He awaits a new and lasting life
Where everything he has is time.
The man’s daughter begins to weep.
She hasn’t seen the Father’s Son
She is living on borrowed time
And in faith she professes none.
Don’t tell Christ to his daughter.
Don’t you even dare!
She glances at her watch
Totally without care.
She think’s to herself
“It’s not my father’s time to go!”
But to the Believer
His Bell did gladly toll.
She mutters curses under her breath
She feels as a victim of crime.
Persons of Grace can give no consolation,
For she feels cheated by time.
Copyright © Dan Paddack