Poems — innocent

Ode to Grandpa

He, who was a perennial kid,
found joy in everything he did.
He, in whom youth was alive,
trusted his heart, not asking why.

He never judged any wrongs,
and raised his ash brows at know-it-alls.

And I remember, I knew him well.
He went through war, he survived hell!

Yet, when he rode his motorbike,
his smiley eyes cheered all alike,
and at the road bends he used to shout
his mighty roar:



© Copyright Beata Dagiel

Blithe Days

seed to seed
the sky is blue
one for me and one for you
there's no thunder
there's no rain
we shall always stay the same
watching flowers, grazing cows
running wild in tallest grass
playing in the sunny rays
those were our blithest days
nose to nose
and smile to smile
counting grains of harvest rye
all in silence
all in grace
these were our blithest days