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. |
