Grandfather

BY CAROLE NICHOLS

The earliest memory that I have
Of the man who meant so much to me,
Is swinging from a handmade swing,
Tied upon an old oak tree.
And of tough, calloused hands,
That pushed me with gentle care;
Even then, he stood tall and strong,
Though there was grey in his red hair.


He always had a smile for me,
I loved the way his bass voice rumbled;
His faith in God shone round him;
Of the hardships of life, he never grumbled.
His eyes never left the path,
He toiled hard to make a living;
Though he never had much to show,
It never stopped his charitable giving.


I remember sitting at his feet,
As he brought to life his Bible stories;
His eyes were soft with his love,
He believed in all of Heaven's glories.
His wife, he called her "Mother",
We laughed for we didn't understand,
That was how much he revered her;
How special was his "good right hand."


In many ways, he was more like a father,
For he loved me ever in his way;
He'd treat me as his equal,
Take me fishing on a sunny day.
And when he was old and sickened,
Twas not for himself that he showed care;
Twas for those of us who'd miss him so,
For what would we do without him there.


Grandfather showed me how to die,
And he showed me how to live;
He taught, by his deeds, how to love,
He taught me how to unselfishly give.
He was the greatest man I've ever known,
Though most of the world knew not his name;
He was a humble man, a man of peace;
He was never one to judge or blame.


He was an island of simple pleasures,
He was a world of faith, unquestioning trust;
He was an ocean of boundless love,
Yet a mountain of fire for souls unjust.
He taught me much by just living his life,
And though he's gone, he's with me still;
I know he sits, now, at the right hand of God,
Left behind shoes no one else can fill.