Like my grandfather that came to rest
Rocking slowly in his old pine chair,
You watch the vista with an open air
Shaking loose your frazzled hair.
For in the cold months
You stand tall and proud,
And in the dark days
Your silhouette is my lighthouse home,
And in crisp mornings
Your tips refresh me
Like my eyelids breaking free.
But before I walk up to shake your hand
I wait for you to permit me through,
For your roots stretch long beneath the floor
And touch my home, forever more.