To My Grandpa

The sun upon the strings of night
cast shadows on your soul
reflecting in them the spark
that glowed in your eyes
shined in your heart
and sparkled white, like the stars on a calm river.

A teardrop on the strings of sorrow
mirrors the sadness upon our hearts
capturing the sighs escaping our lips
that grasp at the mourning
until morning has broken
reflecting the gladness trapped in the sadness
helping it out to where the sun shines again.

Love on the strings of a memory
echoes the life
harkens the affections
found in each waking moment –
a diary of living,
written with sweat and blood and tears,
a scrapbook filled with trinkets,
like clues to a puzzle,
pieces of love that fit together
continually bringing that memory back to life.