To Pops…

Second Home

A soft wind blows

Over my father’s

Fragmented grave.

He is out there,

Amongst the frogs,

The cattails,

The herons;

A second home.

I pay tribute

To the man

Who loved me

In his own

Particular way;

A quiet man,

Silent and solitary,

Dispensing rarely

His life story.

I rarely heard

Words from him

Of his childhood.

‘Twould be nice

To engage in

Conversation once again

With him alone,

Wine in hand,

Where herons roost.

blue-heron-in-flight

©paul grignon, 2013, all rights reserved.*

*Image courtesy of Mark Hilliard.

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7 responses to “To Pops…

  1. I let these words soak in – respecting, relishing the love hidden within.

    Saying no more, I slip away to leave you two alone.

  2. Oh how beautiful, you literally brought a tear to my eye. Thanks for sharing this moment with us.

  3. maryamchahine

    In a quiet way you have described your father well….short amount of words that told a lot. In some ways it reminds me of my grandfather.

    • Thank you so much for the kind words. It’s nice to know that my words found a common root within your own life.

      I surmise your Grand Dad was a lot like my father; quiet and distant but loving in his own way. I wish I had the chance to meet my father’s Dad. But he died when my Dad was only 24. I can only imagine how traumatic that must have been for my father. At least I had the chance to witness my Dad in an older age.

      Take care, and thank you for following me. I appreciate it.

      Paul

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