Grandpa's Cross

Five years old when my grandpa died,
I sat there, sobbing, crying eyes,
I threw on flowers toss by toss,
And then my mum gave me my grandpa’s cross.

It was brown and old,
Wooden and cold,
Little and small with a vanished gloss,
And then my mum gave me my grandpa’s cross.

This cross means a lot,
But others think not,
This object represents a tragic loss,
And then my mum gave me my grandpa’s cross.

Grandpa was a special man,
I know that God had a plan,
Cancer took him, now gone forever,
'Forgotten?' they say, 'Oh no, never.'

And then my mum gave me my grandpa’s cross.