The Picture of My Grandfather
He would walk into the room
Shoulders held high
Pinnacled to touch the sky
In my eyes a giant of a man
My Grandfather wore a face
Of a blue-eyed Irish sage
With wondrous stories and rousing song
In every breath and heartbeat
Belonging to his Celtic tradition
Some might call him strapping
To me he was a brilliant smile
We would hold hands to dance and sing
In the light of him loving me
So simply, almost magically
He would pull me from my shyness
Into a world of extraneous joy
As he twirled me up onto his shoulders
Then crashing to the floor, feet on the ground
To dance with fire and delight
With every step while singing
Loud and clear of the happiness he knew
Copyright © Lonna Blodgett | Year Posted 2024
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