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Grandfather Our grandfather by the sea, blind. His deck chair settles our rug on the stones and his face takes sunlight like thirst. We always play games that need speaking; each of our cards and moves are told And he smiles in his taking part. We are saying our childhood to this old man and his beautiful face, liver-marked and shy, has no end in its space, no end in its gentleness, to hold a whole life of listening left to do. ( Oliver Shelley