I write these stanzas like having something isn’t enough of anything
When I cry alone in my bed
Writing is my way of using the tears constructively
I’m really not tough
Poetry is lost around my age
But I say it’s just been in hiding
Thinking that all these crazy kids are gonna pound on it’s cage
And unleash the rage
That is manifested in words that burn lines on this page
I write to ease my mind
To suffice until I can find
What it is that makes me wind
Like a grandfather clock ticking the time away
As I watch her get up and walk away
But really all I want is for her to stay
Grandpa knows a lot about a lot
So I must know a little about a lot
Because my clock hasn’t been ticking quite a lot
But Grandfather taught me how to treat a lady
As if she means more to me than Minnie or Daisy
You know, from those times I was a baby
Like the wind, I see her walk across the room
Gliding oh so swiftly across the floor
And like a knitting loom she spins round and round
Forgetting about a thing called ground
We neither talk nor do we make a sound
All we do is sit back and unwind
But that’s ok, because grandfather taught me how to turn a situation around



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