Old man and his grandson stroll down the lane
filled with memories of one’s-
to other, a worn out trail.
When musings paint not the picture of days gone
nor the boy’s mumbling reach the old ears;
they walk in known silence
and holding hands bridge the years.
I found this contemplative poem somehow relaxing.And as full of philosophical and spiritual nuances as might be found in longer works.
I’m glad you liked my work, Louis…. Appreciate it.