In the gold rectangular framed picture of you,
Resting on mother's bureau, I see you embracing your family, With a loving grin, an affectionate squeeze Transparent blue eyes, White, thick, full head of hair Three deep creases running along your forehead From the stress perhaps Being Chief and all.

I see your name on that gray monument, facing the courthouse the third one down Edward R. Gleason Jr. July 23, 1972 "Officers killed in the line of duty." Why was it you who was taken. Kneeling down, I place a blue carnation in the freshly spread dirt in front of the cement slab. I close my eyes, a tear escapes I reach out and run my hand along its smooth surface Maybe your spirit will touch me.

Seconds pass, Finally I open my eyes, And sigh out of frustration I want to scream. But I savor the 16 delicately engraved letters in your name.
All I have of you

I miss you, Grandpa