Hair, the color of ripened wheat,
with the sun shinning upon it.
Eyes, so clear a green,
shot with gold, as to be jewels.
A smile that reaches her eyes
and casts a glow from within.
Five tiny fingers grasp an aged hand,
with the delicacy of fine porcelain.
Two small feet, lively tapping,
in an excited tempo.
A Grandfather walks, stooped,
along beside her, with pride
evident in the smile he affords others.
His hat, a dapper angle,
upon his head of snowy fringe.
His one hand held by hers,
while in his other, a few wrinkled bills,
held aloft as a trophy.
I stop and watch their approach.
I watch as they pass beside me on the path.
As the two, young at heart,
head for the colorful, ice cream truck
parked at the curb.
Feb 8, 2011
Feb 8, 2011 at 12:43 PM UTC
Hair, the color of ripened wheat,
with the sun shinning upon it.
Eyes, so clear a green,
shot with gold, as to be jewels.
A smile that reaches her eyes
and casts a glow from within.
Five tiny fingers grasp an aged hand,
with the delicacy of fine porcelain.
Two small feet, lively tapping,
in an excited tempo.
A Grandfather walks, stooped,
along beside her, with pride
evident in the smile he affords others.
His hat, a dapper angle,
upon his head of snowy fringe.
His one hand held by hers,
while in his other, a few wrinkled bills,
held aloft as a trophy.
I stop and watch their approach.
I watch as they pass beside me on the path.
As the two, young at heart,
head for the colorful, ice cream truck
parked at the curb.
Another shot at Free Verse
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