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