Remembering an uncle.

————

My uncle was an architect

whose long legs made him so erect

I had to peer up toward his face,

his well-trimmed moustache just a trace

of whiskers which seemed to embrace

his permasmile while all the while

his spectacles displayed a twinkle,

highlighting a freckled sprinkle

complemented by the wrinkle

at the corners of his eyes,

and one day I would realize

My uncle’s passion was his painting,

watercolors, pastels tainting

darkness with their loving light

like bright auroras in the night

reminding you that all was right

as landscaped trees waved in the breeze,

the wonder of his palette knife

replenishing both hope and life

and soothing over daily strife,

reflecting beauty all around—

and here’s another thing I found:

My uncle loved to fish and camp

regardless of the cold or damp.

Perhaps because he was a Swede

he had some deep, instinctive need

to live with nature, then proceed

to teach his boys life’s many joys.

His family was at the heart

of what he cherished, more than art,

and in his eyes I’d see the part

their sons and life-long loving bride

had played while they lived at his side.

By Ken Gosse

From: United States

Facebook URL: https://www.facebook.com/ken.gosse/