The Wolves
The Wolves story-day stories

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A story to my grandfather...

The Wolves

by ghostful

I have a mantelpiece grandfather

The kind that sits there

Fewer creases in his weathered face

A ghostly youthful smile

On the mantelpiece he sits with my mother

The smooth rounded face

Of a child between her father’s knees

But she is creased now

Hanging onto the phone

That no longer rasps “I love you”

My grandfather was a tall but gentle man

His sharp English tone of voice

Through a greying bristled mouth

But when I was small

We made blue and green snakes out of Play-Doh

He would roll them round and round

In his big coarse hands

Making them slither up my arms

And across the table top

For hours on end

But he never tired

He was all ever smiles

We used to go to the woods

To hunt for the foxes

To hunt for the wolves

Howling into the shadows

Listening for the twitching of leaves

We never heard a thing

My grandfather though...

...ended up in a very different neck of the woods

Where he had once stood tall amongst the trees

He became small, skin tight and pale

And lord, how we all grieve...

Grandfather I never got to hold your hand

We didn't know cancer was lurking behind those trees....

But we will always remember you

For who you were before you left us...

We are Play-Doh hearts

And you grandfather....

You're running with the wolves

I know you are

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