Grandpa was a painter.
He said it was hard to get the colors
Just right.
His favorite color
And most difficult
Was Moab red.
I was a crayoner.
If my crayon said blue, it was blue.
Although, I did have a favorite;
It was cornflower.
Grandpa was a painter.
Grandma was a singer.
I was a band nerd.
I cannot sing of her.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
Tears after all these years
Still blur the page.
I cannot revisit the music
Or the colors of that day.
So beautiful and poignant. I suspect when her voice finally comes through you, she will sing again through every line. I cant wait to read THAT poem!
ReplyDeleteSomebody else might have to write that one for me. We'll see.
ReplyDelete