Vivaldi’s Four Seasons

The sand on Grandpa's hourglass,

Is slowly falling down,

Bit by bit,

Piece by piece,

Til it's almost done.

And I knew,

It's time for him to rest.

Before, the color of Grandpa's hair,

Was slowly turning grey,

Bit by bit,

Piece by piece,

And he told me the song,

Of Vivaldi's Four Seasons,

Keeps him alive and moving on.

Now, the smile on Grandpa's face,

Is slowly turning upwards,

Bit by bit,

Piece by piece,

As he told me,

That my fingers blue and bruised,

Were the prettiest, when paired with the piano.

Tomorrow, the pain in my chest,

Will hit me hard like a tornado,

Bit by bit,

Piece by piece,

Inside and outside.

A week crammed into learning the song day and night,

And a last night's goodbye spent together with Grandpa.