My Papa Roy, the joy of my childhood

PaPa’s Attic

My cousins dared not tread

On that hallowed ground,

That mysterious domain

Our grandfather had

Forbidden.

He guarded it

With a stern voice

And a strong glare.

But, when I was there,

Without my cousins,

He would look away

And forgo the voice

And the glare

And pretend not

To notice

While I climbed the stairs,

With stealth

And reverence,

Through the

Invisible portal

That took me back to

The childhood of

His children,

Where I would explore

For what seemed like days

And return to my

Own time

When I heard the clinking

Of milk glasses

And the crinkle of

The pinwheel cookie

Wrapper and I knew

It was time to return.

I think he knew

I would respect

Those lives

And their time

And would never

Take that trip

For granted.