Going down Lindsay Road, <br />the usual speed, boxer four, <br />family wagon from the crowd <br />in Hannover, that's where they build <br />Vanagons, export with fuel injection. <br />The oldest of the tribe, he buttons now <br />his vinyl shirt, as if to hide his skin <br />there is an atmosphere of need, <br />and of such happiness and love <br />as mother has the ancient stove <br />in slavery, there's cookery in awe, <br />nightfall has come, the bats have sung <br />and generations will have clashed <br />before the rooster's call today. <br />It is no use, my boy, go back to sleep, <br />I will have thought of what you see <br />the same as me.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/grandpa-was-here/
