My Grandfather

His skin looks old, brown, and wrinkled; scarred by the Mexican Sun; His wrinkles are a chronicle of his life-long Wisdom. His hands are rough to the touch; toughened by years of toil on the Fields; Breaking his back for the people he Loved. His aroma is reflective of his love for Tobacco; A cigarette between his fingers for 75 years. A habit perhaps, but it is part of who he is. His voice is croaky, dusty, but sweet: Always uttering words of Wisdom or Legendary Stories. When he speaks all should listen; He is an ancient Library whose contents should be Preserved and Remembered.