In the silence of our rooms and halls
when all the grandchildren are gone
I contemplate the paintings on the walls
and see our lives and loves are drawn
in those ordered panels and on glass
of coffee tables where little hands and fingers
left their tiny welcome marks in passing
record of the visit’s joy that lingers
even though we hold a fist of spray
that will soon enough remove all traces
of the gleeful exploration and display
that paints indelible the smiling faces
of our grandsons in their pride of place
locked in memory as we scrub all trace.
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