It is a blessing he had
an obliging grand daughter,
did Great Grand Pa Jacob.
She let him die the way he asked:
resting his head on her breasts.

He had buried his wife, Julia.
His daughter, Juliette,
senile, gone, rocking off her
rocker on the porch, couldn’t,
(wouldn’t have anyway, we surmise).

So, my mother, Genevieve, let him.

He slipped softly away with a sigh
and a two toothed smile,
while she, stroking his spare gray hair,
crooned an old Cole Porter lullaby
into his good ear.
When he breathed his last, contented breath,
whispering, “OK. Yeah, thanks”,
she hooked up her bra,
buttoned her blouse
and buried him next day without fanfare.
For she had granted her grandpa a boon, already.
A tender send off,
nearly back to the womb,
then snuggly into his tomb.