A Souvenir from my Grandpa

It was in Yugoslavia that a civil war broke out,
Ground-shaking gunshots were heard in the streets, no doubt.
My late grandpa took up pottery to pass the time,
A hobby to escape from the war, the terror, the crime.
He made a small vase on the day of his death,
Then left the house, was shot, and took his last breath.
Before the cruel side effect of war took his life,
He left the vase in the hands of his children and wife.
I never got to see my grandpa's face,
But I remember him through this one small vase.