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Grandpa
As I look at his picture,
the things I see.
His sacrifice,his struggles
for his family.
The hardship and changes
hed to endure.
His hands as hard as stone
but also gentle and pure.
To start over in a country not
his own.
A language barrier that at times
made him feel alone.
With an iron fist he ruled as the
patriarch of his family.
For he saw things in us all that
we couldnt see.
But a protectivness and love that
Ive not since felt.
When he was taken away I cant
describe how empty my world felt.
When I look at a portrait of a man
what do I see?
My grandfather and what one day
the man I can only hope to be.
