My grandpa was a most unusual man. He and my grandmother lived with us the entire time I was growing up. Because of that, our farm was the gathering point for my many aunts, uncles, and cousins. While difficult to live with from an adult point of view, his grandchildren adored him.
When I was about ten years old, my oldest male cousin wrote a poem about Grandpa. He titled it "My Grandpa - Unfinished" because, he said, Grandpa wasn't finished yet. I finished the poem about three years ago.
Today, I introduce you to my Grandpa, Peter Franklin Burns, as viewed by his oldest grandson, Harley Wallace Bias, Jr.
"MY GRANDPA – UNFINISHED" by Harley Wallace Bias, Jr.
My Grandpa used to teach me things,
'Bout whittlin' and makin' swings,
And how to bait a hook just right,
To get the biggest fish to bite.
Just when to plant a field of corn,
And how to patch a glove we'd worn,
To recognize each bird in flight,
And what made what in sound at night.
To thump for just the proper sound,
On watermelons that we'd "found."
To make sure that the one we ate,
Was sweet and red and tasted great!
'Ja ever dig a mulley grub?
Or hide a bullfrog under a tub?
Or poke a stick at a garter snake?
Or skim flat rocks on a backyard lake?
'Ja gather leaves at Fall's first frost?
And find an arrowhead, long lost?
To conjure on its plane and flight,
Of battles fierce or foe's delight?
'Ja ever drink from a trickling spring?
And think of the hundreds of other things?
That time on time and time ago,
Had sucked and quenched their thirst just so?
We heard the whippoorwill at night,
And threw rocks up at bats in flight,
And watched moths flutter near a fire,
Caught lightnin' bugs in an old fruit jar.
'Ja ever jump on a cornstalk sheaf,
To watch quail fly from underneath?
Or trail a rabbit through the snow?
Or read a book by candle glow?
We'd amble, too, beside the crick,
And poke at crawdads with a stick,
And talk of dragonflies and bees,
Of honey comb in secret trees.
………….Never Finished
My Grandpa used to teach me things,
'Bout whittlin' and makin' swings,
And how to bait a hook just right,
To get the biggest fish to bite.
Just when to plant a field of corn,
And how to patch a glove we'd worn,
To recognize each bird in flight,
And what made what in sound at night.
To thump for just the proper sound,
On watermelons that we'd "found."
To make sure that the one we ate,
Was sweet and red and tasted great!
'Ja ever dig a mulley grub?
Or hide a bullfrog under a tub?
Or poke a stick at a garter snake?
Or skim flat rocks on a backyard lake?
'Ja gather leaves at Fall's first frost?
And find an arrowhead, long lost?
To conjure on its plane and flight,
Of battles fierce or foe's delight?
'Ja ever drink from a trickling spring?
And think of the hundreds of other things?
That time on time and time ago,
Had sucked and quenched their thirst just so?
We heard the whippoorwill at night,
And threw rocks up at bats in flight,
And watched moths flutter near a fire,
Caught lightnin' bugs in an old fruit jar.
'Ja ever jump on a cornstalk sheaf,
To watch quail fly from underneath?
Or trail a rabbit through the snow?
Or read a book by candle glow?
We'd amble, too, beside the crick,
And poke at crawdads with a stick,
And talk of dragonflies and bees,
Of honey comb in secret trees.
………….Never Finished
