In the garden where dreams would bloom,
He’d sit with stories, banishing gloom.
The wrinkles on his face, a map of time,
The echoes of his laughter, a sweet chime.

Beneath the old oak tree, shade so grand,
He’d hold my tiny hand, I’d understand.
His wisdom, a river, so deep, so wide,
In his quiet strength, I found my guide.

The scent of pine and morning dew,
Whispers of the past, forever true.
His eyes, a mirror of the skies so bright,
In his embrace, I found my light.

Now he’s a star in the evening’s glow,
Watching over as life’s winds blow.
His legacy, a song in the heart’s own choir,
My grandfather, forever, my source of fire.