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Granddad
March 30, 2019
Your body is beaten and broken,
Your lips are pale and still.
You’ve been buried in roses and rain:
Tears of the windowsill.
Your sight is smooth and blank,
Your mouth exhausted of talking.
My voice will never reach you
With grief’s eternal knocking.
Your lungs are empty and quiet,
Your heart has fallen and turned to dust.
Forgetting keeps me company;
My memories are devoid of trust.
My eyes can no longer close,
A lost face has been slain.
But she says remember the happy times
So I’ll be happy again.
© Antonio H., London, England
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