This is a poem to my Grandpa Ed
Who smiles at me from these faded pictures.
Who holds my grandmother happily among the corns stalks.
Who stands, posing in front of his truck,
With his children, with his brothers and sisters.

This is a poem to my Grandpa Ed
Who tells the story of the day he met my grandmother.
Who tells the story about a dance. He saw her and loved her.
Who tells the story about how he fought for her.
Who tells the story about how he won her over.

This is a poem for my Grandpa Ed
Who was thin and dying, lying in a hospital bed.
Who was dying from a wasting disease.
Whose last words to me were,
“I like you hair short. It looks very pretty like that.”