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To crouch beside him in the rows,
Counting seeds beneath rainbows.
Three in each hole, I’d count with glows.
He let me help; his garden grows. 

To sell the pears he grew and picked.
Red wagon wheels click-click, clacked, clicked.	
One penny each, the price was strict.
The neighbor kids their fingers licked.

To shave his beard while on the couch,
To hear his words; those never grouch,
And tales of ghosts for whom he’d vouch.
Yes, all of this without one ouch.

To sit beside him while he sleeps
In quiet stillness without child peeps,
Until, alas, his scare would creep.
Awake he snored; was not asleep.

Or hear the tales of where he’d been
His work on waters with boatmen,
Three busy tugboats from docks to glen.
Granddad, my hero, way back when.

To hear his laughter once again,
Reliving days that were back then.
Alas, his death brought my chagrin.
I live to hug him once again.

Copyright January 14, 2013
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

(Forever Families, God taught the way
Grow pure love of Christ everyday.
That’s what the L.D.S. people say.
I live my life to hug granddad someday.)

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