Portrait of My Grandfather
Written by Gail DeBole on January 26, 2013
Whiskers and wisdom all in one.
Generously and gently protecting us.
Every grandchild thought they were your favorite.
You in your long johns at night.
Joking during the day like Groucho Marx.
Sleeping in your favorite chair.
Smoking smelly cigars that callously killed you.
And yet I treasure one of the boxes left from those smelly cigars.
The farm was not the same without you.
We were not the same without you.
I was too young to know.