My Grandfather's Hands

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My mother's father's hands were rough and strong
Used, as they were, to mending injured hulls
Of shrimp boats, working at that trade from long
Before my mother's birth - but that seemed dull
To her three brothers; each one chose a path
To their careers which was not maritime.
A man from church explained my Uncles' math
While kindly giving me a ride: In prime
Of life he had once worked for the old man
And said he was a mean, demanding boss
Who held the highest standards in his plan
To train apprentices; not one to cross.
     But he regretted leaving him because
     My grandpa was the best there ever was.


 


 


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Created: Apr 20, 2014

Tags: poetry, sonnet

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