Gramps took us to Paris;
With him, it was a thrill.
But we really never left the farm,
On that barren dirt poor hill.
We’d climb atop the Effel Tower,
Pick flowers at Versailles,
Saw master paintings in the Louvre,
The bright Parisian sky.

He walked us thru the Triumph’s Arch,
We toured Napoleon’s Tomb.
Then we boated on the Seine;
Oh, how his voice lit up the room.
With Gramps, we traveled o’er the globe,
Took in the ancient sites.
We did the things that rich folks done,
On poor folk family nights.

We were the first to open up
The treasures of King Tut.
Gramps knew how to perk us up,
When we kids were in a rut.
We scaled the peak of Cheop’s tomb,
Saw Cairo thru the haze.
Got lost deep in the Kasbah,
And wandered in it's maze.

The last words that I heard him say
While I sat on his knee,
“Next week we'll trek to Angkor Wat.
But that was never meant to be.
As he slept the sleep of innocence,
And Angel came to call,
Inviting gramps to go with him,
On the greatest trip of all.


Now sits an empty rocking chair,
And things gramps left behind.
His dark specs, an old white cane;
You see, our Gramps was blind.
He'd never seen our loving smiles,
Nor saw the light of day.
But in his mind, he took us to
Those worlds, so far away.

Well, I grew up and drifted off,
And toured the world to see.
Every place I went from there,
I felt Gramps next to me.
We climbed atop the Tour d'Effel,
And boated on the Seine.
We walked the stones of Bethlehem,
And London in the rain.

We toured the Catacombs of Rome,
Vienna and its charm.
Every step, I've felt him there,
His hand, firm on my arm.
He awed at Rembrandt's masterpiece.
At "Tosca", how he cries.
He’s thrown away his specs and cane;
For I've become his eyes.

03/14/2005

Posted on 03/14/2005
Copyright © 2024 Fredrich Mohre