May 25

I hear my grandfather’s silence
muted like an oncoming storm
his passive unmoving wisdom
his being like a noiseless swarm

In my youth I had reason to blather
in middle age something to say
as it passes I hear the refreshing
calm as the thunder roils away

I hear my grandfather’s silence
from that ratty and easy chair
as if war and children and living
had quelled all reasons to swear

In youth I wanted to change things
in middle age to make myself safe
there’s a calm quiet storm coming
that is peace and love and grace

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A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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