Poem: ''Grandfather''

The old man sits upon his stool,
Carving wood into a spool.

He’s old and wrinkly with not much hair,
He’s grumpy and tired with all his wear.

He sits for hours with nothing to do,
If you had nothing to do, you would too.

Though Grampa dear is tired and old,
His twinkling eyes give light for the stories he’s told.

His family is all up and about,
They get their bags and leave with a shout.

Poor old Grampa sits all alone,
Staring out the window,
muttering in a dull tone.

November turns and suddenly it’s Christmas morn,
Grampa seems to have been reborn.

He plays games and tells stories all night,
He even has time to write
by candlelight.

It seems old Grampa has changed quite a bit,
He doesn’t seem in the mood to quit.

Maybe it’s being with family and friends,
That seems to mend the broken lens.

By Keara Stewart
(12 years old)