My Grandad,
I know nothing about you,
I never  really did,
You died long before I was born,
never even a sparkle in your eye,
I have no idea what you looked like,
I know not how you died,
nor when.

I know once that you were a saddler,
a maker of fine leather,
In deepest Dorset, laid a paving slab with our family name on.
I saw it once or twice,
It was positioned smartly on the pathway, outside a shabby looking shop,  that shop it wasn't yours, you had long since gone,
The shop, well it's probably a convenience store now,
haven't been there for a good many years,
That kerb stone may have stayed in place,
One day, I may go take a look,
a photo for my memory book.
(C) Livvi