Monday, June 28, 2010


A granddaughter
Reaches up
For the hand
Of her Pop

When she was three
She gave up
Her friends
When he gets to town
She only wants
To be with
Her Pop.

A great grandson
With the same eyes
As that granddaughter

His first word
Was Pop
And every time
He comes here
He runs in
To see his great grandpa.

A daughter
Cares for him
In those
Twilight years
All three
Bringing him
Medicine in bed.
Four generations
Full of love.

A whole family
Children, grandchildren,
Great grandchildren
Sister, and nieces
Visit him in the last days
To say how much
They love
And respect him.

The great grandson
Points at an airplane
In the sky
And says, “Pop.”

Where is Pop?
He asks.
He has gone to heaven
And we all
Miss him more than words can say.

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