He told me stories of his youth
while we sat close to the burning fire
The wood crack loudly as the coal turned red
and the chimney ****** the embers higher and higher

He told me stories of the ghosts that scamper about in the dark night
he met one once on the way to the loo that turned his hair bright white
And then the time he was fetching coal when he was just a boy of ten
and in the morning walking to the coop to collect breakfast from mother hen

My granddad and his stories who I still love so very much
At home time, he would kiss me smile and say, see you tomorrow, “last touch”

O, the stories he told me I remember to this day
And still rue the time of our lives when all granddads are taken away