“Grandfather, tell me a story” I said. Yearning for the words just inside his head And sure enough out they came. From lips that smiled, for our little game. Words made worlds and from those tales, grew thrilling stories with mountains and vales They soared and swooped and spun around and finally landed on the ground, and came to me. A simple child. And once they came, they drove me wild. They bounced around inside my brain, pounding like the falling rain, and then they stopped, so with a grin, I shared them with my next of kin. I watched their eyes light up with a rush of joy, knowing they now knew a way to employ all the ideas and stories that they held dear. Waiting, hoping, for someone to hear. Now, with a sigh, I can say goodbye to all of the people and worlds that were formed then by my little old grandpa who loved to perform them, knowing that somewhere, I cannot yet see, he smiles for his words, now live on in me.