Sestina

Sun, 09/16/2018 - 21:42 -- kairom1

I look at your tombstone

And wonder if you

Can hear your grandchild,

Who you barely knew?

The family reminisces about you with love,

But I don’t remember.

The beauty of you is what they remember.

All I have of you is the name on the tombstone.

The way my family speaks of you proves their love.

They always say I would have loved to be near you.

My family each tell of different versions of  the you they knew.

Would you have enjoyed spending time with the storyless grandchild?

This poem is about: 
Me
My family

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