W. Blaine Wheeler Poet Prose Poetry

Old Grandfather of the Teas

You have told me the story many times before,
                  old grandfather
                  of the teas;
        but I will listen again
        as you carefully pour
        the hot green fragrance
And slowly tell me of the morning long ago,
                  old grandfather
                  of the teas,
        when your last daughter
        was born and died
        as the heavens
Over Nagasaki disappeared and ashes rained
On your home and your wife and your baby,
                  old grandfather
                  of the teas.

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Kim Rodrigues November 11, 2020 at 6:13 PM We remember all such sadness...