Grandpa: another poem by Linda Duncan

I sang as you lay dying,
softly did I sing
washing you with warm water,
my eyes held not a tear.

I could feel your spirit leaving
so I dressed you in your best,
all alone in the summer heat
Singing as you slept.

I remembered you in a thousand forms --
in still life paintings -- still
not a tear fell on my cheek
as I felt your fever chill.

As a mother sitting rocking
I hummed a haunting tune
and held you in my aching arms
until your spirit loomed.