When we used to visit
in the summer
you were old as oak
Your cabin scented with
Cedar and smoked latakia
stubbornly lit by oil lamps
We chased fireflies with you
rode on horseback
and settled under the stars
Till we grew up
forgetting the summers
that you never did
You wrote us letters
even when we didn’t
write back
and I would give anything
to take back the words
“We’re too busy grandad”
City life, you told us
was far too lonely
for a man of your age
and in time we stopped
asking you to come
In your letters
you used to send us pictures
of the sunshine and the sky
This year the coroner called
and my heart bled cold tears
when I learned what happened
In the remains of your cabin
we found your packed bags
where the sun was still shining