My time is not my own.

I am on call from dusk till dawn.

I feel like a circus jugglar,

Trying to meet each of his needs.

Banker, Chauffeur, Housekeeper, Teacher,

Yes.  I do it all.  

 

But I will miss Grandpa when he’s gone.

No more Saturday fishing trips.

Or Sunday mornnigs at the corner store.

He was going to teach me to whittle.

Yet, he never had the time.

I loved hearing all the family stories,

Of times with Grandma and his cousins.

I will miss Grandpa when her is gone.  

 

Will he miss me?  

It’s hard to tell.

I work to keep him clothed and fed.

All the while he sits and stares,

Out the large picture window,

At the birds and tall trees.

Maybe, Grandpa will miss me when he’s gone.

 

He is waiting patiently for a journey,

In which I cannot travel along.

But, I will miss Grandpa when he’s gone.

He has served his time here,

With nothing more to do.

He is going home to the Master.

I will miss Grandpa when he’s gone.