For the Love of Cindy

It was exactly like a Tennessee winter should be
the air, crisp and sharp
a skiff of snow at this altitude. . .

‘Gramps let me split you some wood

Now never you mind about the wood
Abraham Lincoln use to say
A man who chops his own wood get’s warm twice

‘But Gramps
I worry about you hurting yourself. . .

‘You won’t split it right
you never leave the slivers
You know how oak slivers
and Cindy
when she’s around she picks up those slivers
and I use them to kindle my old tired fire

‘Gramps. . .

‘Cindy will be around directly
and she loves to pick up those slivers for me

‘Gramps. . .

‘I know what you’re gonna say
and you are gonna say it wrong

Cindy is gone
She went to Afghanistan. . .
She was killed by. . .

‘Now there you are
Saying something I know is wrong
Cindy is my baby girl
and she was always good at straightening things up around this place

‘Gramps. . .

‘Just go on
Go on down the road and when you see Cindy
be sure to tell her there are some slivers a oak up here that need picking up

‘Sure thing Gramps
I’ll be sure to tell her when I see her
I’ll be back next week to check up on ya
You need anything?

‘Nope son
I’m just fine

Published by

Chyfrin the Celtic poet

Artist, Poet, Electrical/Biomedical Engineer, Actor, Playwright, Set construction, Educator, Lover of womankind and single malt scotch

3 thoughts on “For the Love of Cindy”

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