Pappa my grandpappa strong and tall
Houser name worn proud integrity honor.
Pappa you grew watermelons right up to the creek
round ones for little ones to bust open and eat.
On the pond you made a boat square with barrels
to make it float, built rails to hold on as you poled grand-kids all about.
Two sons , two daughters fighting hating for what you had
You use to shout "My God I am not even dead "
Gramee Houser died no one to shame them ..to hold the peace.
my papaa they say you took a pistol out to the granary
and ended your life that night...
just that morning
had taken off my Sabbath shoes made a toady hole
in the sand pile made for us.
as you explained I would never have gramee Houser again
but as long as God allowed I would have you....
Adding your comment:
but then wouldn’t this be a 
dull site if everyone wrote in the same style on the same subject? I hope this wasn’t a
personal experience. I won’t insult your intelligence
by suggesting you can write only from your own point of view about only your own experiences. Best of luck.
Write on!
Made me miss my grandparents even more than most days 
You write wonderful people poems. 
