tangles of dew berries hanging on thorny vine,
overalls stand tall, boots colored with rich soil,
bowls of fruit with sugar sprinkles,
hot coffee with oatmeal,
trips to city hall to talk about business,
trips to the mall for ice cream cones,
salt and pepper hair, skin quilted with wear,
rough hands and Sunday suits,
singing loud with voice so bold:
"Way down upon the Suwannee River,
far, far, away,
that's where my heart is turning ever,
that's where the old folks stay."
Far away is where he stays,
perhaps we'll meet again some day,
we will walk in the garden to pass through time,
we will eat from thorny dew berry vines,
we may sing or be silent - I can't be sure,
My Irish Grandpa, I adore.
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