Grandpa's Poem

He was quiet, like snow falling on a dark winter night;

But the twinkle in his eye revealed his soul filled with light.

Deliberate, he never said what didn't need saying;

what he did say caused smiles, relaxing and staying.

Patient, the man did not hurry.

The right words would come, he did not worry.

His days were filled with chores - he called it puttering.

Listen as carefully as you could, you'd never hear him muttering.

He repaired, he helped, raked, planted and mowed.

The tasks he did for others, that's how his love showed.

He had goods to sell, but sometimes he just gave.

His generosity during The Depression was some folks' big save.

His jokes and stories supplemented his wares at the store.

If you listened long enough, you'd want to hear more.

He moved in his own time with the needs of others as his gauge.

Only when you understood the story, that's when he'd turn the page.

Arthritis crippled his joints, but he wasn't moved by the pain.

He stayed silent, but passed on that his joints said it might rain.

If patience is a virtue, Grandpa had more than his share.

Its hard to say goodbye to a man so rare.

But now the time has come, Grandpa has moved on from this life.

I can't deny that I'm happy that he's again with his wife.

I knew I'd have to face this great loss one day;

I didn't know it would hurt this much but I'm glad he's on his way.

His joints were hurting too much, he couldn't garden anymore.

His eyesight was failing, he couldn't help, he couldn't putter, everything was too sore.

But now he's all healed, his fingers straight and nothing hurts.

I bet one of the first things he did was button one of his shirts.

He's in heaven with God, and not a second too late -

To greet his wife of 67 years, his other half, his soul mate.