I can still see the smoke, raise up around his head. Grandfather and his pipe, as he worked out in his shed.
Making his penny whistles, and whistling a little song. Puffing on his pipe, while I would sing along.
The pipe had a sweet smell, kind of like a spice. I could tell it anyplace, because it smelled so nice.
I used to think the smoke, was kind of like a cloud. When it circled his head, he looked so kind and proud.
Grandfather and his pipe a memory that will last. One I'll remember forever since grandfather now has past. |