Wisdom

My grandpa was known by everyone around
That he could fix or build anything
With weathered rough hands, he’d start from the ground
And construct every masterpiece

He said Take the tools that you’ve been given In your mind know the reason
to everything that you create
Everything that is once was a puzzling dilemma
And wisdom comes to those who know to wait

He gave his days to a company and almost every evening
He spent in his shop beneath the stairs
The walls were packed with jars of nuts and bolts from floor to ceiling
And waste was something that he could not bear

I was small and only ten the day I needed his assistance
A tire on my bike was out of air
This man who built a legacy of handcrafted persistence
Knelt down to me and filled it up with care

His hands shook as he turned the cap between his fingers
No job to him was too high or low
I watched and waited, quietly I contemplated
His plaid shirt and white hair his halo and robe

When I think about those days, they seem so far away
How fondly I see those memories
I’m sure he’s fixing up those mansions, with gold instead of branches
And tells those saints the same he told to me.