I am attempting to write a poem about Billy Quarles, my grandson’s other grandparent. My poetic juices are stirred unannounced by some off-hand remark or a dream or just an inspirational event. I don’t purposely set out to compose a poem. My grandson, Ben Quarles, made a comment about Billy that set this in motion, He stated that Billy rides his scooter down to the marina every day, purchases a cup of coffee and walks out to his sail boat. He is too old to sail by himself but bought the boat anyway. My grandson stated that he just sits there and watches the sunrise and or the sunset almost every day weather permitting. The picture that I created of him in my imagination is that which I hope to put into words.
The last two lines are about a framed photo taken by my daughter of her husband Bob, Billy’s son, and his dog, Boo, wading in Port St. Joe Bay, both of whom are now deceased.