To My Mother's Father

When I am aged, my hair in wisps carried
By quiet winds, and struggling smile to arch,
And eyes hazed by Time's hand, my heart will march,
Struggle to the land where you were buried.
I will meet you by the church where, married,
You dreamed to hold an infant's hand. I know
I am the child as she was then. Your glow,
Through years, sits idle in a frame, tarried.
And we will sit upon our homeland's bough.
You will cry and tell how, once, you loved your
Other and I will sit, forlorn with sighs.
I will hear your boundless wisdom and know
Why you had passed and left us on this shore
When on deaf ears fell your forgotten cries.