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Rated: E · Poetry · Writing · #1584218
A poem for my Gandfather, Harold Schueler
Anticipation,
like a child waiting
for father to come
home, he's sitting
on the lumpy bed.
Toes tapping and lip
biting, he cannot
fully express what
time you will be back;
though not being much
alarmed when the old
electric doorbell
rings and a smile comes
to his face knowing
that you are outside.

© Copyright 2009 David Hawk (hawkmoth27 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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