Grampa's Time

By Byron Pulsifer

The day is so full these days
More than I would ever have thought.
A grandpa never seems to be without
Little needs coming without a doubt.

Each day may start with aches and pains
Or some with a tiring chore
But tired limbs and old bones
Delight in cherishing tiny thrones.

Upon the throne I do squat
With less than royal demeanor
I don’t mean to sit alone
And soon am joined with cheery tones.

As I arise with demanding orders given
Little hands grab mine to aid to stand
Without which I’d gladly on my throne to sit
But little hands grab mine to do a skit.

There is no day so long and boring
As those without those grandchildren’ soaring.
Up and down the path I trudge
My low sugars crying for a fudge.

The days may seem to hurtle by
But time stands still I surmise
But, when those little hands grab mine
I wait so much for another time.

I may be called the gramps to them
But life’s love is to grab hold again.
When those little hands grab mine
I always long for more hands of time.

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