In the early spring
the seeds he once planted
have crafted strong roots
and these plants have flowered rich blue-
tonight these flowers are a sentimental creation
Of hands which with passing time learned to stay busy in simple joy.

in this place where he spent decades
retiring deeper and deeper into
simple and quiet desires,
he is now retired again-

his peaceful ashes fall
among the forest floor greenness
And cool earth below.
here Nature delivers perfect
oneness and unity and rest.

his most humble legacy still fills my nose-
the smell of rose buds
his earthy corn I pick
and honeysuckles,

dusk is thick with the manifestations
of his harmonious and simple work
the labor which is the product of the wisdom of old age
nurturing life with gentle hands
the dark summer night belongs
to tree frogs
whippoorwills
and toads.

they sing like an invisible gospel choir
A song welcoming him home.

Gramps is home.
He is all around us,
With us,
In our hearts most strongly,
Which beat slow and steady
In rhythm with the Ozark hymn.




© Edward Storm