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Grandpa’s Tools

In honor of my grandpa, “Big Ed” Stephenson, a stone mason.

His hands were young and eager
When Grandpa chose his trade,
And grew in strength and honed his skills
With every course he laid.

Until his box was filled with more
Than tools to work the stone;
Security he found therein
With means to be his own.

He built with true integrity
And such he taught his son,
As side by side the things they built
Were bridges every one.

I’ve never touched those calloused hands;
He died, but not before
His hands reached out to touch my life,
This bridge I can’t ignore.

Those trowels, floats, and strikers,
In more than just one way,
Were tools that built foundations
That still stand firm today.

The will to work, creation’s joy;
To face a duty square;
Are traits passed on and make me proud
His honored name to bear.

Picture of Wes Stephenson

Wes Stephenson

Author, motorcyclist, poet, and adventurer. Let's journey together.

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