God graciously gave my grandpa another year of life. He turned ninety-seven last Saturday, and got to celebrate with some of my family out in Pennsylvania.
What kind of birthday present do you get someone who is turning ninety-seven? After that many years of birthdays, presents start to get a little old... in more ways than one. But who doesn't like a little poetry on his birthday? I deemed this the best birthday present option and decided to write Grandpa a little poem. It was writen for him mind you... so if it doesn't make sense to you dear reader, you can rest assured; it made sense to him!
Here's to you Grandpa:
Dear Grandpa Hall...
Sometimes I don't know about you,
You heckle me till I’m reddish-blue.
You tell stories about meat and dogs and knives...
And tails of your family and their lives.
You tell me I don't know how to kiss...
Then you speak of marital bliss.
You give shouts of scorn with wielding fork,
Every time I cut fat off my pork.
As I try to discreetly remove the gristle,
You grumble, shake your head, and bristle.
You have plenty to say about boys...
And remind me that I make too much noise.
Your wisdom far exceeds my own...
You deliver it well in your grandpa-ish tone.
You speak highly of my mom: the perfect child...
And then Uncle Charles who was rather wild.
I’m thankful for you Grandpa, to be sure...
You help me grow like a garden with manure...
My affection for you, you need not ensure...
For my love and admiration will certainly endure.
Happy year ninety-seven...
In June, two thousand eleven.
Grandpa Hall, you are now old...
... if I may be so bold.
Even though you don’t yet see the follies of sweets,
Even though you pickle your beats,
And even though you seasoned stuff with monosodium glutamate,
All in all... I suppose you are still pretty great.
I mean, come-on...
I’ve looked hither and yon...
You are the only one I’ve met who picks his nose with his tongue.
In my opinion, you’re still pretty young!
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