My Grandpa Drives the Bus

Thu, 05/16/2013 - 21:06 -- rosey35


United States
43° 0' 0.1836" N, 89° 58' 52.842" W

They smile and they giggle
And the back is filled with bumps.
His hands on the the wheels and each
turn is smooth as silk.
It weaves a brilliant spiderweb
Through the mornings, after
Each stop a gentle mountain side,
Each roll a simple dust of snow.
Yellow as the sun and staying
loyal when it rains,
Blinking like a fiery dragon,
Crawling through its cave.
A patchwork pattern, clock in and
out, a scent of clean and strength.
It carries on each day and yet his
smile never fades.


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741