My Grandpa was a farmer by trade,
But to my knowledge he never marched in a parade.
I remember well the dairy farm that he had,
He learned all about farming when he was a lad.

He was up early in the mornings getting the cows milked,
He wore shirts of cotton and not ones made of silk.
He had fields that needed tending,
Family members came to help with their hands lending.

There was hay to be cut and baled and put into the loft,
From his hard work his hands were calloused and weren't soft.
He chew tobacco as long as I can remember,
He would offer some to every family member.

He told us kids it was his candy,
It was always in his pocket which made it handy.
When my grandparents retired they sold their farm,
A relative that lived close by bought my grandparents farm.

So now years later my Grandpa's gone,
The house and the barn are also gone.
So now all that is left are the memories of life on the farm,
And how Grandpa kept us kids from all harm.

I have been very fortunate to have a Grandpa like I had,
And because of it I am happy and not sad.
Spending time with him on the farm was always fun,
Even though we had to work in the sun.

Thoughts of him came back to me today,
Because it would have been his 112th birthday.
I miss his smile and his laughter,
Others are enjoying it in the hereafter.

Author: Inez C.
(Copyrighted © August 13, 2008)