This is a poem for you, Grandpa.
With your pale blue shirt
And your faded pants.
For you
Who’s eyes seem to drift off into the past
And your dyeing face saddens me.
For you
Who’s weakening grip still hurts
From your old bumpy hands.
For you
Who hates me playing with paperclips
And merely smirks when I say what they are.
For you
For the fear I felt when I saw you laying in the hospital bed
And me hoping you wouldn’t die there.
For you
Who takes help only because you have to
Although everyone always needs help.
So I write this poem for you, Grandpa.

Your Grandson in heart and mind,
Dustin


**Since the time this was written Adolph Kadura - my loving gradfather -
died from a heart attack**
 
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