He stood tall, about six ft. two,
a man of great stature and mystery.
If only my granddad had had the time,
to gather the threads of past history.
I remember him to be a man of few words,
what little he said, he meant.
A quick glance from him and one instantly received,
the message that he sent.
A quiet presence, yet powerful indeed,
a man you had to respect.
His interactions were always understood,
short in length and very direct.
Amidst the serious steel-like demeanor,
you might catch a glimpse of a smile.
His hat always rested perfectly in place,
capturing his signature style.
Granddad’s hat simply added mystique,
to a man who wore it well.
One could only wonder what made him tick,
though his lips would never tell.
Granddad always wore a hat,
some may have thought he was shy.
Though none dared to ever tip the hat,
to reveal the message behind his eyes.
By Sylvia Porter-Hall