I Hear the Stories

I hear the stories that my grandfathers tell me. Stories of their lives long ago, Of family bonds and working for a living; Plowing fields, selling shoes, working on the road. I hear about the rolling hills, The gravel roads and dust. I hear about the tools they used, Covered in the rust. I hear about the way things used to be, Everything black and white. I hear about the way they lived; Working from dawn to night. I hear the stories that my grandmothers tell me. Stories of being at home, Of raising kids and teaching morals But still feeling all alone. I hear about teaching eighth grade English And about the bakery down on Main. I hear about washing clothes, cooking meals, Living on the Kansas plains. I hear about the students, How they never did their work. I hear about the farm duties, Which the kids could never shirk. I hear about their lives, Intermingled, intertwined. I hear about how they lived back then; And, oh, how they thrived. And so, dear old grandparents, I’ve heard about your lives. You’ve taught me precious lessons, Given counsel, and advice. Now, it’s time to live my life, And spread my wings and soar. I thank you for the flying lessons, But most of all, the lore.