Great Grandpa taught me how to pray,
His big black bible by his bed,
To hold my hands in such a way,
Give thanks for this new light of day
And all the earth’s new daily bread.
Don’t pray for what you want or need,
Each golden page is all right here,
Each brightest psalm will intercede
And fill our hunger as we read,
Great Grandpa whispers with no fear.
How strange I thought, he’d yet to swallow
A crumb of wheat by day or night,
His eyes half-closed and sunken hollow,
For bread and light, I could not follow
How Grandpa’s thankful prayer took flight.
At five to twelve his watch last found me
And ushered out as children were,
I suddenly could somehow see
His hands before eternity,
No need or want, without a stir.
Great Grandpa taught me how to pray,
His big black bible by my bed,
I hold our hands in such a way,
Give thanks for every light of day
And all of heaven’s daily bread.