Dear grandpa those hands so worn with work and age,
Cause me to reflect as I turn the next page.
I sit and I listen to every story,
Of war and of work and all of your glory.
Of your birth out in Utah in the midst of depression,
And a childhood filled with work and confession.
You talk of the music that you loved to play,
Of the camping trips and adventure you found along the way.
Patriotism is alight in your face as you reflect,
On the great war with your utmost respect.
Though too young at the time to serve the red white and blue,
You patiently waited until your time came due.
You trained and you sailed on a battleship,
And later was trained for the Korea trip.
Your stories continue with young love and life,
For a beautiful girl who later became your sweet wife.
You talk of the boys you raised together,
And the rocks you dug up in all sorts of weather.
I think of your love that you gave unto all,
And how those hands cared when others would fall.
I remember back to grandma's last day,
And how you loved and cared for her all the way.
Now we sit here together and I watch those hands,
That have seen so many years and so many lands.
You may not remember my name and my face,
But I will not forget the way you spent your time on this place.
I will not forget the stories you tell,
Of your 89 years and how you lived well.
So thank you is in order as I look ahead,
And think of those hands and all you have said. Poem By M.Estelle.E