TRAGIC Poem: Ol’ Red’s Echo, by Holly Kwiatkowski

In the barn, Ol’ Red waits, a silent friend,
Its red paint faded, but the heart beats on.
The cross in the rearview still stands to send
A prayer to the skies, though Grandpa’s gone.

Scents of oil, of hay, still cling to the air,
Like whispers of the past that never leave.
I climb inside, his presence everywhere,
In every engine purr, in every breath I breathe.

We’d ride dirt roads, the truck wheels churning,
Through hay fields where dreams were wide.
His voice was a gentle hum, stories grinning
With each turn, every mile we’d ride.

Though time moves on, Ol’ Reds here, still and true
A piece of Grandpa is always there to view.

Author: poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film. View all posts by poetryfest