Arrived as neatly as skimming

a flat stone across Rudd Pond.

Like a farmer who plants seeds,

I’ve watched my kids procreate

offspring who appear like pickerels

jumping out of the water—one

after the other, who I now greet

in their pictures every morning

on the door of my refrigerator.

Their presence softens the sting

of having to leave this world since

I witness what I could have done

and who I should have been, in

the flowering genetic potential

of my grandkids—age 6 to 26.

After I’m gone, I plan to be around

with the help of the Morse Code

that I learned in the U. S. army.

Watch for my dots and dashes.