I find myself at the window more,
Looking out like grandpa did before.
When I was young and hid behind the closet door,
To watch him as he stood so still and
Bent against the window sill.
What was it he was staring at,
What was he looking for?
He’d leave and then come back again
To look out there some more.
What, I thought, could old folks see
That kids like me could not…
Cuz when I looked out, all seemed the same…
The trees, the leaves, the garden lot.
A dog, some birds, the neighbors cats,
No pirate ship, no treasure chest, no
Fairies in the grass. No elephants, no grizzly bears
No sails upon the mast.
At times I’d even ask myself, “Is Grandpa fooling me,
Or maybe just a bore?”
But now I’m as old as he was then
And I’m looking out the window more…
And now I know what he knew then
And I see what he could see…
The trees, the birds, the garden lot…
And they’re beautiful to me.