deepundergroundpoetry.com
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come
I remember the bounce
of a bus ride into Liverpool
and a rolling ferry that made me so sick
I had to sit on his knee.
My small fingers ploughed the fields
on his potato sack face
as he kept a weather eye on the Mersey
and swamped me with his huge farm-hand hands.
I love you grandad I said, touching his cheek
beneath a gaze that drifts towards an ocean.
and there it was,
a smile that fitted perfectly into
every furrow on his face.
of a bus ride into Liverpool
and a rolling ferry that made me so sick
I had to sit on his knee.
My small fingers ploughed the fields
on his potato sack face
as he kept a weather eye on the Mersey
and swamped me with his huge farm-hand hands.
I love you grandad I said, touching his cheek
beneath a gaze that drifts towards an ocean.
and there it was,
a smile that fitted perfectly into
every furrow on his face.
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