Grandpa,
when I am old, like you,
when after choice upon choice
and day upon day,
my life becomes somewhat the substance of
the precious, scattered rays of sunset,
and mortality spreads before me
as the piling sands of an hour glass,
for all to see who I've become-

When I can sit back, finally
with children and grandchildren
to talk of purpose,
to talk of truth,
to talk of years,
as a spectator of this quickly becoming
all too brief Great Circle-

I hope that I may inherit the very same
spotless, dignified, noble grace
with which you so confidently rock
that grand old rocking-chair.