by Mark Weinrich

I don’t remember sadness
under the weeping boughs.
Coffee fragrance hovered
beneath the lacey flowers and patio brick. 
Hummingbird moths buzz the silky blossom
threads. 

“Play In the Garden, Mate.”
Memory of Grandpa and his sailor ways,
the soothing tone of “Mate”, shares how
unconditionally he loved a long-haired wanna-be.
I close my eyes and fingers flow,
I sing to the Lord for Grandpa.

In that sanctuary shade 
peace settles upon us.
When I open my eyes, Grandpa’s smiling
and wiping tears. I don’t know 
what time or scene he visited,
how I wish now that I had asked.

Mark Weinrich lives a creative life as a writer, photographer, musician, and artist—all wrapped together in an outdoorsman. He is a retired pastor and nine-year cancer survivor. His writing and photography have appeared in over 139 news stand, inspirational, and literary publications. He has sold eight children’s books and currently has two fantasy novels on Kindle.