What a pity we can’t stop the clock
Today the 3rd of May is one;
Today my granddad had a son.
Away from the burning Indian plains
In an English hill station, blessed with rains.
The First World War was at its height
Still to come - Armistice Night.
When the tiny babe, my future Dad
Became my Granny’s precious lad.
Much loved, he was an only child
Loving nature, running wild.
A long life and a happy one
Who survived the Second War, then some!
And attained the age of ninety-five
But sadly is no more alive.
Last Christmas his bright light grew dim
Old age his spirit took from him
So now as May the 3rd comes round
This birthday has a hollow sound.
(c) Poet in the Woods 2014
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