The Art Of Playing Dominoes Poem by peter rodenby

I played dominoes with my grandson
His last year I played dominoes with my father
My grandsons dominoes had animals on their faces
My father’s were the traditional kind
There is little skill in playing
Much is determined by the hand you start with
Chance and luck plays a major role
In who wins the game.
Is that much like life?

My father played with dimmed eyes
a befuddled mind
My grandson saw bright animals,
knew the differences
Between a cockerel,
a cow.a sheep and a pig.
My father saw only dots
and found it difficult
to concentrate.
My grandson was beginning his life
Everything was bright
He knew the colors were alive
My father was ending his
In black and white and gray.

I played dominoes with them both
the living link. messenger between the two
I was privileged sharing in the Game.
My father bequeathed to me
the Art of playing dominoes
Is that so much like life?