Paul Williams

By Grayson 

They never knew me.

The granddaughters with the brown hair and hazel eyes.

They wanted to, of course, but they never could. 

They won’t ever know my laugh, 

The way I gave praise;

My smile. 

They’ll never know the way I loved, 

The way I gave;

My face. 

The only connections they have to me,

One is distant, one kept close.

So I’ll put a piece of me in them, 

A bit of me to call their own. 

My attitude, my happiness;

My love of life. 

My smile, my behavior,

So they can know me at last.