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by James Dalton Byrd
The air of the sea preceded him.
He was salt spray lifted from waves
by winds that carried the scent of spice
from exotic lands.
He would bring fresh fish
Sometimes wild duck
would grace our table.
And, always, stories of how he got them.
I remember days on the beach
walking with him,
finding treasures that had been lost
by some sailor's misfortune.
The fall of evening would light his hair.
He was sunset over Galveston Bay.
He was excitement of dolphins
running before the ferry.
A carpenter's tools hold the imprints
of strong hands and long use.
The tools of a man who built churches
and a house to hold his family.
Rosewood and brass...
now, I use them.
Some people say he was a hard man.
A stubborn old Scot
who had to have his way.
I prefer my memories of Grandpa.
2001- 2013, Quill & Parchment
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