On a couch
My Papa ED sits
Calm, smiling, laughing
His body still ridged
Like an old army officer
He sits and he weaves
He tells us stories
Of a broken past
Like weathered mountain
Still grand but filled with cracks
The stories spin around us
Weaving like a spider web
They are never in order
Here, there, this, that
Slowly we listen
Piecing it together like a puzzle
Eventually we find the hidden treasure
Memories are his
He lives in the past
Looks to the future
Working technology like one of us
He passes more tales along
Making more memories
Always he says
It’s always good to remember
The past is his
A gift he gives to us
But the future is ours
Our memories and dreams
We give them to him
A small price to pay
For old stories on a worn couch
