In the quiet of the evening light,
Sits a man with stories to unfold,
His eyes reflect the stars so bright,
Grandad, with wisdom, bold and old.
His voice a gentle lullaby,
Tales of courage, love, and grace,
Each word a dance that never dies,
Etched in time, they find their place.
Hands that held the world with care,
Now rest upon the chair’s embrace,
Yet in his heart, a wanderer’s flair,
Adventures lived, a life’s embrace.
With every laugh and tender sigh,
Memories weave like threads of gold,
Grandad, a beacon in the sky,
In his stories, we find our hold.