A Box In The Shed

My great grandfathers had fame for all I know,
Though I met them but once or twice,
A few old pictures are all that remain,
In a box in the shed with the mice

My grandfathers I saw more frequently,
And for me they always took time,
Still I can see their smiling faces,
Etched in this memory of mine

When I was nine or ten one grandfather died,
Then we moved far away,
By the time I saw the other one again,
He could not remember my name

My father the hard worker and little league coach,
Always early to rise, coffee, newspaper,
Who can forget the morning singing,
And how wherever he went, a friend maker?

My father still there when I was grown,
Always stopped by to make sure all is well,
No matter the next town or two states away,
Through ten feet of snow is the story I’ll tell

My life somehow now more busy than ever,
And my visits home ever more tardy,
My father pushing ninety and quietly sitting,
No longer the life of the party

I dread the day when my father is gone,
The last of the generation before,
He will be remembered the rest of my life,
And his memory the grandkids will adore

Soon I’ll be the old man at the family reunions,
My great grandkids to meet once or twice,
And after a few short years, all that I have done,
In a box in the shed with the mice

--Daniel Minteer