2 of 57

by DL McCulloch

He spun tales to me,
a child at his knee.
Sitting rapt with awe,
I would see what he saw;
the world so large before me,
as his voice spun the story.

There were saints and sinners;
some losers and some winners,
all woven into events and places
with their own voices and faces.

Grandpa's stories, like seeds gently placed,
grew in my child's heart where they traced,
yesterday's wisdom to tomorrow's rhyme,
and his past met the child, ahead of his time.

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Poetry: Ahead of his time

by DL McCulloch

Poetry: Ahead of his time

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