Whats That? by john clare I have a little grandson, he is the only one. Now we have this bond, of one another quite fond. From the very start, he stole my stoney heart. I would take him all about, pointing everything out. Now he says, What's that? What's that?, they wonder where he got that? We think they do not know, the love we show. Just last night, such a heart rending sight. As he was taken up to go, his tears began to flow. And reaching for old me, he cried most desperately! Who but him cries for me? Not judging I'm past seventy? Caring less I'm growing old, soon gone, just simply wanting me to hold, pointing out from where we sat, What's that? What's that?
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