Stained With Baby Angles

This is about my Pappy (grandpa) When My Grandmother died.

Old man. Gray hair. Warm heart. Your eyes, still as blue as the day you met her.
The faded memories sit in a golden frame, on the bedside table, covered in white lace.
I remember when you told me, "Nothing lasts forever. So, be careful what you hold on to.
You just might loose grasp too soon."
I know you wish you would've listened to yourself. But I also know, you don't regret her.
The other night, I saw when you opened the closet door. Her old polka dotted dress is still hanging their. She was too poor to offord traditional white.
The sweet sent of her soft skin still lingers on.
Her perfume still remans in the glass bottle, stained with baby angles.
You still have her notebooks, filled with poetry. All about you, and the days you would hold her.
I know you cry, sweet, sweet old man.
I promise you'll soon see her agian..