Thursday, August 11, 2011

In spite of everything


Reading to my grandson,
I sniff his hair and say

         “You smell good. You smell like the fig tree.”

He doesn’t know it,
but his fingers are tangled
in my beard.

         “No, Isaac not smell good.”

                           Gather not your gold on earth

Three times the declaration,
and as many his reply.

         “Grampa...”

And in spite of everything, good fortune came to find me.



from “Apology,” by Gordon Lightfoot


4 comments:

all ways 11 o'clock said...

a very beautiful moment William.
how could one resist your beard.
thank you for sharing this.

~robert

William Michaelian said...

Thank you, Robert. I don’t get out much myself, but the beard is available for parties.

willfulresemblance said...

reminds me of my son when he would grab hold of my beard and hang on for dear life. Lovely poem -

William Michaelian said...

Thanks, Jhon. A sturdy beard, a strong neck — they serve us well.