~~~

My memory of grandpa
Was that his hands were red
Showing me some pictures
A kid's book before bed.

The bones were raw and gnarled
The sinews looked all sore
The skin was thickly callused
Spotted, lined and scored.

They showed wear and tear
They echoed his toil
Grandpa was a farmer
A tiller of the soil.

Grandpa couldn't read
But we could laugh and look
His hands delicately turning
The pages of a book.


SoulSurvivor
(C) 5/12/2015