Tradition Poem by Robert Melliard

Grandpa made his lighters well.

He would take an old paper
(a broadsheet then)
and separate a single page;
starting at one corner,
he would fold it into a long,
one-and-a-half-inch-wide strip,
and then this too was folded,
criss-crossed a dozen times,
and the ends tucked carefully in.

The result was a paper concertina,
perhaps ten inches long.
Once he had made several
they looked identical.

Now I try to recreate his patient labour,
but my kids don't understand, and ask
'Why not crumple all the paper into balls? '

Not sure what to say, I just invent:
'Well, this activity's relaxing,
like yoga or Thai Chi:
I concentrate on folding,
and forget life's rougher side.'

I guess I should have said
'Grandpa's fires lit first time! '

Will they, or grandkids
(if they ever come)
notice my old technique,
and carry on this weird tradition?