The Only Time I Cried

Seems forever ago.

Being a boy at ten,

never knowing what death was,

I found out inside a church on a Sunday.

Grandfather lay in quiet repose,

dressed special, like I never saw him before.

Thinking him asleep,

I grabbed his hand saying, “Wake up grandpa.”

He wouldn’t stir.

I thought he was angry with me.

Running from the church,

tears like a thunderous rain poured from me.

He was my favorite friend, bestest buddy;

he told me jokes, made me laugh.

Grandfather was special.

Grandfather was gone.

I found out he wasn’t angry.

I found out he went to heaven.

I smiled a little.

But that also made me cry even more.

No man ever has affected me so.

*************

Sept. 1, 1890 - June 22, 1957

A Man of Many Seasons

(He was in my life for ten of them.)