Granddaddy's roll-top desk,
Sitting in the back-room Sun,
Memories flow through time,
Some as though they've just begun.
Tomes of the purest Love,
Lying in the pigeon-holes,
Portraits expressed through him,
From the pulpit, freeing souls.
Flames burning through the night,
Shadows cast by pen and glow,
Oil bringing fuel through wick,
Reminds of Anointing's flow.
Reverent, the Reverend's task,
Bringing Heaven's Word to lives,
Sacred, the call he claimed,
Unction's movement still revives.
Granddaddy's gone ahead,
Gathered in the Throne-room's hall,
Offering crown and voice,
With family, friends and all.
Workbench of stalwart's worth,
Being now, my father's desk,
Offering place, you serve
Furthermore, as God requests.
Now Daddy's roll-top desk,
Sermon in the upstairs room,
Stained by the prints of time,
Shepherd's oils, dispelling gloom.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem