Grandfather
A pleasant meadow with rows of stones
Not of Nature but chiseled by men
Each one has a story, a meaning
Thousands of stones sharing their stories
Each one lovingly kissed with floral lips
Yet I easily find that one I seek
Its story speaks to me as no other can
I kneel
I pray
I sit
I talk
I listen
I swear
I hear
My grandfather calling my name
I clean his stone and bid him farewell
As I return to the world I wonder
Is he proud in Heaven
Of the man whose tears now flow?
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