Peering at each
one through his old pebbled lens,
Grandpa played
with his jewels, his tiny wee gems,
Each one a jewel
he felt & so very perfectly made,
“This little piggy”,
he tickled & with each one played.
As the old man´s
Granddaughter sat on his bony knee,
A tiny little
tot, pink, round, soft & not barely yet three,
Each little toe
he´d roll between his gnarled old fingers,
And the scent
of new bathed talc rose, wafted & lingered.
The little lass
listened & loved her Grandpa´s stories & tales,
While he played
with her toes & spoke of gnomes & whales,
Those precious
times together, spent by that friendly hearth,
So warm, snuggly
& cosy after every night-time’s supper & bath.
“Why do you call
them your jewels & gems, each of my little toes?”
The old man laughed
& kissed her little cheek of the evening rose,
“I call them jewels
& gems, because that is just what they be & are,
As these little
toes, through your long life will be sure to carry you far”.
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