Jimmie Calvin

My Grandad was a detail guy… a planner. If I didn’t know better, I would say that he planned his passing to coordinate with the beautiful weather forecasted for his funeral on Monday. He selected the caterer for the celebration afterwards, the music, and the poems to be read.
Katie + Grandad
A couple of years ago, my cousin, Katie, wrote a poem about Grandad for school. That is one of the poems he requested, as well as, The Songs of The River by W.R. Hearst. Last Sunday when we were all together, he asked she and I to read them to make sure he liked the way they sounded. (I told you he was a planner…)
Katie kindly agreed to let me share her poem with you here.

Jimmie Calvin
By Katie Lipscomb
I love singin’ the blues,
Slow dancin’ on your shoes,
Let’s put on our pj’s
And shoot the moon.
When mornin’ comes,
Clanking pots and pans,
Let’s go feed the fawn, Jimmie,
There’s age on your hands.
And after we’ll dream in hammocks,
And eat onions from the ground,
Trade stories of Pickle sisters
And look at all the bugs we’ve found.
I’ll pitch washers with the sandman
And if he’ll hold this moment still,
I am 5 and so are you
And we’ve got all the time to kill
I’ll see you in your overalls
On the farm where you grew up,
I’ll see you get the belt
When you try and act too tough.
I’ll see you walk to school,
I’ll see you give Ruby a ring,
I’ll see your love grow,
I’ll see your faults show,
But I’ll be damned if I miss a thing.
For I see what you are,
And it is infinite,
And I thought it’s time
You should know,
That I measure your spirit
In the mountains
And my love for you
In miles.

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