Grandpa Poem by Kwai Chee Low

She held tightly to her grandpa's hand,
her little chubby fingers against his,
gnarled and wizened with age.
She loved walking with him,
though such times grew less.
Grandpa used to be limber
but now walked unsteadily with his walking stick.

At her height, trees looked magnificently huge,
smiling down at her.
Grandpa would stop to pick a sunflower,
and gently put in her hair.
It brought the sun into her smile.

Their favorite resting place was the hillock,
where below fruit trees beckoned,
and country paths wound like snakes.

Nightfall would bring fireflies,
glowing like tiny angels,
against the dark shroud of night.

Such times became indelible parts of her memory,
forever and ever.