Blessed Grandparents Poem by D.N. Rebb
Blessed Grandparents
Ever wonder if your grandparents were romantic?
And don't forget they were former babies too
They once rocked it out, now they just sit and rock their chair
At what age do we master the game of Euchre?
This poem is dedicated to:
Grandparents,
They are like:
Silent sunsets, re-found change, old bottles of cognac, empty tire-swings swaying, road-trips to nowhere,
Loons at dusk, completed chores, confession-booth dust, long hugs in the middle of a dancefloor, ice-cream dripping down your hand, hope after a mild catastrophe, peaceful cemetery ambience, an honest day's work
This poem is INTERESTING, which is not ALWAYS a 'bad comment' for me to make.. I'd RATHER have ice cream dripping, nay, cascading down my THROAT AFTER it has tickled my taste buds. : )
Euchre is one game I have never played and know nothing about it. I only met two of my grandparents: my father's mother and my mother's father. I like the poem.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
5/2/2024 4:37:39 AM # 1.0.0.1119
As for 'dust' in a 'confession-booth': Ok, 'Sisters, aka nuns', get out your feather dusters! ! ! ! , or Father O'Reilly will not make nice with you.' bri : )