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Grampa Ernie wasn't old
Stroke took from him, me
The youth he had hidden
Would not share
Lifeless legs seem cold
And cousin Joe he sees
In everyone that visits
We do not care
I know of him just what I'm told
Compared to what I see
Inside an unreachable mind
If any is there
Grampa Ernie wasn't old
When he died
But Father finally left his mold
For on that day he cried
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Holding onto anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned. - Buddha
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