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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