…I miss you, Grampa Leo…
Grandfather, why are there no tales of you?
Of Fathers, Mothers, Sisters, Brothers
Even of your wife,
There are plenty.
I know you’ve seen the fairies, too.
I can tell when I see that sparkle in your eye as you talk to your friend,
The one with the candy-gas-station, as we called it,
Who trusts me to count out a dollar worth of candy.
You told me tales of falling skies, of girls with roses,
Of two little sisters- one red haired, one brown.
Those Irish eyes always smiled, handsomer than a prince’s toothy grin.
Walks to that candy stand were like entering the treasury,
choosing only some treasure to take on the journey in our small sacks.
But the store has been emptied,
no more tales to be heard,
no more your words with new meanings (like beerd, not bird).
You made us laugh, a true bard, indeed,
but no tales to be told of you—
(c) 2000, Twisting the Glass, by Kerrie Colantonio (McNay)