Substitute Grandfather

My youngest child is my only boy, and although they loved him, his sisters didn't always have time to spend with him.  I wrote this poem for my son.

                                          He loved to sit
                                             on the old man's
                                          front steps where
                                             he could see across
                                          the endless prairie,
                                             or paddle forward
                                          on a sea where
                                             white caps rose
                                          above the blue-green.
                                              Some days the old
                                          man would join
                                               him to exchange
                                          stories about the
                                               past.  Trails of
                                          dust coming from
                                               dump truck buffaloes
                                          would surround them.
                                               Then the wind
                                           would rise, and he
                                                would be called home
                                            before the storm began.