20milesfromnowhere's Blog

Grandpa’s Gun

On a wall of my father house
A place so dear to me 
I gaze up at old grandpa’s gun,
His hands I still can see

I feel the cold and the winter sun
The bite of frost and fields
I think of all the game it felled
To make his family’s meals

The stories he would tell me
with a blink, a wink or smile
Tales of old and of older men 
their deeds out in the wild

The hardships of a life back then
How each shot, a chance enabled
The goal not of a trophy
But furnish for the table

I hearken to a simpler time
A freedom now not known
A connection to ones nature
Of fields and meadows blown

It might be just a relic
Tarnished, worn and old
But for me it is my history
With a value more than gold.

Thank you SuziCate