Grandfather
By ecologist
The smell of Pine drifts fro the mirror originating from the little tree hanging from the mirror grandfathers grave 'neath the forest remembrances of days long past echo in my soul inexorably they bring meto this place where the trees stand silent sentinels to the greatness of him a gentle man always worked, never a day off 65 years to an early grave from cancer sticks hung glowingly in the corner of his mouth little stars falling down with the briefest gust of wind instantly stomped out the fear of the forestin which he lies ever vigilant in the stone possessing his name My grandfather, my friend his last days, in antiseptic smells white ambiguity...a shapeless cotton gown, draped over gaunt shoulders when he walked patiently...through white sterile corridors the end was near they saiddoctors with emotionless faces, desensitized to death which cloying,.. stuck to their white coats a thin fine echo of...a plethora of inevitable deathit haunts me stillthe sound... hounds on the hunt in my mind, always eternally no silence a blank grave calls out he to me saying the words..of wisdom he always said live life it is all you have live it well, give it respectfor that is what it is. Written November 4th, 2001 © on Nov 04 2001 12:06 PM PST 0 • 10
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"The smell of Pine drifts fro the mirror originating from the little tree hanging from the mirror grandfathers grave 'neath the forest remembrances of days long past echo in my soul inexorably they bring meto this place where the trees stand silent sentinels to the greatness of him a gentle man always worked, never a day off 65 years to an early grave from cancer sticks hung glowingly in the corner of his mouth little stars falling down with the briefest gust of wind instantly stomped out the fear of the forestin which he lies ever vigilant in the stone possessing his name My grandfather, my friend his last days, in antiseptic smells white ambiguity...a shapeless cotton gown, draped over gaunt shoulders when he walked patiently...through white sterile corridors the end was near they saiddoctors with emotionless faces, desensitized to death which cloying,.. stuck to their white coats a thin fine echo of...a plethora of inevitable deathit haunts me stillthe sound... hounds on the hunt in my mind, always eternally no silence a blank grave calls out he to me saying the words..of wisdom he always said live life it is all you have live it well, give it respectfor that is what it is...."