At the end of every visit, as though it was the last time we would meet They gave a hug and say “Good Luck” then wave us down the street I looked back, see them both and then begin to pray… To hold a hand for sixty years and still want to be his friend
If there was a way to still thank them for the gifts they gave to us all There wouldn’t be talk of things in a box, for their gifts No, the gifts that they gave didn’t come wrapped in a bow But they came every day in the example she showed
The warmth we felt in Grandma’s lap while rocking in the sun Made a difference in our lives back when we were young Just hearing ” Grandma loves you ” while in the safety of her arms Was reassuring for a child to be protected from all harm
Grandpa’s greatest asset was his compassion for humanity A source of strength for those he knew, a pillar of the community Like the roses that he gardened, his family was his pride The lessons that he taught us today remain our guide
Sometimes my thoughts are taken to how and where and why And in my mind I paint a scene of a garden in the sky there’s Grandma and Grandpa and all who had gone before They are waiting for us all to come and receive our great reward
In this garden in the sky it’s the same as it has always been… Grandpa’s tending roses and Grandma’s tending him.
Mario William Vitale is a poet with over 1,000 toward his platform. Vitale was born October 23rd, 1970 in Bristol, Ct. Currently living in Wolcott, Ct where he helps as a care taker for his elderly handicapped mother Ann. Vitale is featured as a writer on Poetrysoup, Writerscafe & Allpoetry. Has a fan base on facebook with over 650 followers. He started writing poems in 1989 after the break up of his first girlfriend as a way to cope with life.
A sky naked without clouds Is no fun to watch and spend time Shapeless clouds floating around Makes the sky to be filled in charm People’s mind is just like a plain sky Without dreams and hopes at infancy Mind
Look how the sky changes rapidly though as in fazes stopping still the clouds do hoover like above the trees to look we turn our faces dim though the reality seems recollecting our midnight dreams Dark and rampant with the
Like a stingray it stung me tonight the new moon. A live flame lobbing the sparks. The seduction had bypassed the sleezy love of white egrets. When are you going to make a history by failing to fall? Can I