Chair by the Window

From his chair by the window, he could watch a field turn brown
Or stare down a country road that stretched five miles back to town
Folded paper towel, underneath the coffee cup
On the table by the chair where Grandpa'd always wait for us

His little piece of Heaven, three acres, give or take
Enough room to stretch his legs is what Grandpa'd always say
He could plant a garden or rent out a plot of hay
And from his chair by the window, he could watch his grandkids play

I never knew the strapping boy that fought battles overseas
The kind-hearted, grey-haired man was hero enough for me
He found love at 22, lost her at 43
But you'd never hear him complain
He'd say, "take warmth from the fire before they douse the flame"

After football games in high school, I'd make time to drop in
Sit there twenty minutes or so, when it was just me and him
He'd rock in his chair, we'd talk about girls and sports and life
Then he'd smile and say, "you'd better go and get on with your night"

He kept his beer in the mud room, inside an old tan fridge
A couple cases of an off-brand that tasted good to him
On those high school friday nights, when I'd stop and say hello
I'd sneak out four or five cans, every time I'd go

I thought I had the jump on him, the way I played it cool
As I would come to learn, my Grandpa was no fool
The day that I turned 21, he handed me a can, and said
"Well, I bet you've never had this brand"
With a wink, and a big ole ornery grin

He danced at my wedding and he held his great-grandson
But as I grew up, he grew old, and life had me on the run
But in his chair with a coffee cup, he'd be waiting any time we'd come
Until the day my dad gave me the call

Back down a country road, about five miles out of town
In an almost empty house, I take one last look around
As they carry out his chair, only one memory remains
On the floor by the window, a paper towel with a coffee stain