It was a warm,sun-shining day.
Springtime scented the air,
a soft breezetouched my face,
quite unseasonal for mid-November.
Patches offlowers still lined the streets.
We laid my grandfather to rest thatday.

Before the procession began
I leaned over the casket tosay
one last good-bye.
Vibrant colors of leaves
displayedaround him,
Each with a name on it.
They represented his family,
thirteen children and
twenty-two grandchildren.

Untilthis point I had been strong,
maybe it was to support my father,
maybe I was just confused.
Standing there I could feel
myeyes, burning like a rapid fire.
I tried to hold back, but the tears
started to run and I didn't move.
I just let them streak myshirt.

We all piled into our cars,
following the hearse downthe narrow,
winding roads of the small town.
The hearse wasshiny and white.
My grandfather was kind and innocent.

Weentered the cemetery,
stepped out of our cars,
and filed to thegrave.
My uncles, the six brothers,
carried the casket to theplot.

It wasn't often that they saw each other,
now they hadunited as one force
to help the man who
held the family togetherfor
so many years.
At the end of the service
my father wascalled forward.
Here I saw him cry for the
first time.
Hewas the oldest son and so
he received the flag of our country,
for my grandfather was a brave fighter
in World WarII.

As we headed home I thought
about that flag.
To methe threads represent
my grandparents bound together
foreternity in heaven.
The red and white stripes are the
thirteenchildren.
The stars are the grandchildren
and the futuregenerations of
the family.

Although a legend, and
hero inmy eyes, has gone,
his tradition and heritage will
live on.