Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Grandpa's House

Rows of brick, each laid with care,
Post and lintel plumb and square,
A quiet garden, beds of roses,
Rhododendrons, pansies, posies,
Picture windows down to boats,
Closets full of games and coats,
A hug, a kiss, the warmest smile,
Canning jars in rank and file,
Cherries, pears, and apricots,
Applesauce in burbling pots,
Grandma's paintings on the walls,
Running cousins in the halls,
Tools and toys, the Buick, too,
The Chevy truck, so clean and blue,
The smell of oil on all the saws,
Grinder, chisels, lumber, laws,
"Hold it so, not thus, and squeeze",
Rod and rifle, fields and trees,
Christmas feasts with pies and cakes,
Pancake breakfasts, streams and lakes,
The house my Grandpa built was so,
He built it well, he did not know
how else to work, the only way
was do it well and square today.

The house is gone, or much the same,
My Grandpa's gone, and bricks and frame
are drained and loveless, cold and spare,
without the loving builder there.

2 comments:

Gr. B and B said...

A sweet reminder of some things past. Our days in Darrington awakened similar memories. Dad will enjoy reading. Love you.

ProsaicPolymath said...

Thanks Ma. When I'm working on the house I feel like both dad and grandpa are looking over my shoulder, making sure I do it clean and square. I'm afraid I don't always, but I'm trying to get better at it.