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