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What will
my grandkids think of me?
And what will they really know?
And what words can I leave with them,
Some knowledge to bestow?
I know
they'll call me Papa Dave,
For that is who I'll be,
But will they ever really know,
The past that makes up me?
I used to
be a preacher man,
And a trumpet I did play,
I used to lead the church in song,
As they bowed their heads to pray.
I used to
be a travelling man,
And I helped folks travel too,
But what will they really know of me,
Before my life is through?
For I
will be the one they know,
As Gramps or Papa Dave,
The one who holds and plays with them,
And tells them to behave.
The one
who buys them little gifts,
And gives them many hugs,
The one who reads them bedtime tales,
Of a bunny known as Bugs.
It isn't
who I used to be,
It's who I am right now,
The one who wipes away their tears,
And calms their fears somehow.
A
preacher man, a travelling man,
Are titles I did claim,
But the day they call me Papa Dave,
Will be my claim to fame.
by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul
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