Sometimes, though, when I’d listen I’d hear the good man sigh,
And once I’m almost sure I saw the moisture in his eye,
But whether he would smile or sigh, he didn’t seem to see
The things that happened ’round him, and that’s what puzzled me.
With the wreaths of smoke ascending as the twilight gathered there,
The shadows crept about him in the old arm chair,
And through the evening darkness I could see the fitful gleam
From the embers in his lighted pipe when grandpa used to dream.
I used to wonder in those days. I wonder now no more,
For now I understand the thing that puzzled me of yore,