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Granddad

Granddad

You were in the porch swing gazing at the spring grass in the fields you used to farm. I stood at the steps for the first time in eight years; a young man now, with a wife, wondering if with eighteen grandchildren you would remember me. The railing wobbled at my touch and you turned toward me. I blushed. You spread a slow hand between us and said my name.

—Bo Whitley

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