|
|||||||
|
|
|
|||||
|
|
|||||||
Beneath the thinning hair, A puzzled stare, A searching frown, As Grandpa looks me up and down. Catching at last a clue Within my face, My name slots into place: "Ah, Jack. It's you." A brief light in his eyes As Grandpa talks, Recalling fishing trips and walks Along the clifftop. Grandpa sighs, Lies back against the pillow. Face pale as the sheets, He drifts asleep. A nurse appears. "He tires fast, you know." Eyes filling up with tears, I turn and go
By
John Foster