Oupa –

Your old chair in the corner

A muted message from the past

Warm and golden in the sun

Speaking honest sweat

And cracked, faithful hands

Through every rung and leather thong,

Such sepia glimpses of the past

Haloed about with holy dust.

(I miss my Oupa, even after all these years, and today I almost thought

I heard his voice in my studio. He died too young...)