Just Grandpa and Me

March 25, 2011
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Just Grandpa and me,
sitting out on the dock,
Fishing poles in hand.

The sun setting,
spilling pinks, oranges, and red
all over the summer sky.

The lake water gently ripples,
past my bare feet.

Silence,
broken by the chirping of bugs.
The old wooden dock,
creaked as the waves rolled in.

The humid air,
stung against my
sun burnt skin.

No words were spoken.
Fishing again,
Just Grandpa and me.





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