Ocean

I hope Grandpa brought his fishing rod,
His hat, some bait to lure a cod.
For Heaven without fishing
Would leave Grandpa wishing
That he’d been sent to somewhere else.

God, if you don’t mind
Sending him back would be just fine.
I promise this time
I’ll listen closely to his stories
Perhaps write down his memories.
I swear I’ll go fishing with him,
Because, with Grandpa, I’ve never been.

Like a black pen in your backpack-you don’t notice it might not be there one day.
And when it disappears, you are scrambling, searching for a way
To reclaim what was once here, what was once with you.
He was a dollar in your pocket-you reach in to make sure it stayed
But with a lurch, you remember it’s gone, you’ve already paid.
But the difference here is that I paid, but I did not gain, I only lost.
And I can only wish that I had known the cost.
I didn’t even get to say goodbye.

Grandpa if you’d let me
I’d cry you an ocean, wait and see
And all my memories
Could be the fish.
So whenever you wish
Throw a line out to sea
And you’ll catch reminders of you and me.