Copyright Christopher Slater
He would not have read this poem
Even if he were still here.
Poetry was not his style.
He would have put it on that table next to his chair
But still talk about it with that crooked smile.
I tried to tell him in my own ways.
I think that he still truly understood.
There had been so many things
Some others couldn't forgive him for,
But all his grandson saw was good.
He knew how much that day meant
When we drove around for hours
And how his opinion was everything.
But was he speaking the day we laid him
When there was thunder but no showers.
My son shares your name now, PawPaw,
But he doesn't have your crooked smile.
That is something that you gave to me.
I will place this next to your stone,
But you don't have to read it.
I still know you love it. That was your style.