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Grampy's Guns
(To my beloved Grandfather, David Harmon. And to his father before him. I never met my great-grandfather, but I hear he was a very loved and amazing man. He died shortly after my older brother was born, and served in the military. :) )
Grampy’s guns are very treasured things
They hang on the wall, above the big TV
Mounted on the wall the hang, just so we can see
The weapons that he loves so much, from his father before even him and me
Grampy’s guns are rusted and old
The barrel is bent, and the steel is cold
These look worthless, they aren’t very nice
But Grandpa would sell them, not for any price
These guns hold something, but it’s not a bullet
It’s not gun powder, it’s not something that fits
It won’t fit, for it is so large
It’s something we all have, paid for without charge
This is love, and sentiment
It isn’t a tool, it’s not an instrument
It’s not physical it’s in your heart
And with Grampy’s guns I know he can’t part
No value at dollar
It’s faded at color
But these guns are special
And so is he that held them
The one I call, “Grampy”
(2014)
The rhyme shceme and the stanza plot change at the end, but I don't care. I still love those guns
