We had raspberries with our dinner, tonight. It's not like I haven't eaten raspberries before, especially over the last X decades. This was different, though. Upon biting into the first one, I was immediately transported to my dear, dear Grandpa Epps' wonderful raspberry patch. I was prompted to write a poem. I want to share. Thanks for indulging me.
I ate a raspberry.
It took me back in time,
To my grandpa’s garden,
And the man, so gentle and kind.
Parallel, marked with string.
Tenderly worked by Grandpa,
Tidy, productive, and satisfying.
Shovel, spade, fork, and hoe.
Helping food and children grow.
Enjoying the fruits
Of labor pleasantly spent,
Tall and unbent.
Over years and years.
Grandpa’s kindness and care
Shaping those he held so dear.
Born in East Lothian, Scotland, John emigrated with hisparents and siblings in to Ontario, Canada, in 1855.He married Elizabeth Ewing in 1861.They are my husband's great-grandparents.John is buried in the Knox Presbyterian Cemetery inWilliamsford, Grey, Ontario.I don't know when this was taken, but this
appears to have been taken at the same time.
|Photo credit: Miz J (Find-A-Grave)|