Closing Thoughts...
Grandchildren
As waves pitched me once,
now children carry me above them.
I who look down and wonder,
how this could happen.
I who would have been a hermit,
Instead become a sponge for their souls.
Their little fingers tickle like a purring,
and there in the middle of the field
I sway like wheat to their voices.
they are trees in a forest
where wind gives them speech.
Always, always I hear it as love
By Bob Jacob
Note: “Grandchildren” was published in Caduceus 8, the Poets at Art Place 2010, a book of poems from Yale School of Medicine faculty, staff and patients, as well as nationally and locally recognized poets.
