Fortuity

 

A grandpa’s road’s fortuitous, when writ,
Beginning when he was a lad at play ,
His boys now trim his sails and ply his wit.

He chose his path when sometimes hope had quit,
Though many forked roads did come his way,
A grandpa’s road’s fortuitous, when writ.

When learning high school ways, he sought to sit
when others urged to join the games and play,
His boys now trim his sails and ply his wit,

An undergrad, he vowed he would commit
to true love, as he wooed his fiancé,
A grandpa’s road’s fortuitous, when writ.

A crib-side father, family now close- knit,
He’d lull them off to dreams and rock-a-way,
His boys now trim his sails and ply his wit.

Today he hugs his grandsons; “baby-sits”,
He loves them more than life and daily prays,
As his “boys” trim his sails and ply his wit,
A grandpa’s road’s fortuitous, when writ.

This picture speaks to me of a grandfathers love, against the seemingly insignificant backdrop of our backyard, where many happy days have been spent over nearly five decades with our children and their children. But looming large in the foreground, is a figurine symbolizing Grandpa and his caring, loving ways.

 

imagePhoto 101, Day Fourteen: Scale & Observation

 

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