Grandpa! We the heartless you know,
Actually love from west brawny land,
Where you dream, but we just hear,
Hear of the world, not the treasure of the spirit,
Grandpa! Are you used to us?
Why n't called before you rest thus?
Just passed away within few seconds,
And seems the dark gripped the lights,
You are vivid of a burnished city,
I mean those pages of the book,
They have, not in a place of favour,
Grandpa! Grandpa! Like a squirrel's roar.
