"Hey, it's Uncle Paul," a poem

Through wires and coils, with miles and miles between.

My Grandpa David, your pride I could hear,

Through your telephone, and your smile from ear to ear.

You asked of my excitement, my feelings of new,

I replied with elation, believing, hardly, it was true.

"I'm going to be an Uncle," I said inconceivably,

Unable to imagine that day would actually come to be.

"Hey, it's Uncle Paul," I imagined you'd say,

Through wires and coils, when it finally was that day.

My Grandpa David, your pride I'd hear,

Through your telephone, your eyes blessed with a tear.

But expectations, while ideal, rarely fully prevail,

For perfection can never be realized; idealism, merely a tale.

I missed you yesterday, when my brand new nephew came,

Even though life took you away, new life has given way. 

"Hey, it's Uncle Paul," I imagine he will say,

On Sundays, on birthdays, and on his graduation day.

Little Andrew David, I will watch him grow,

Truly unaware of the name upon which he was bestowed.

I imagined you the same, chasing the orange and pink sun,

Even though we never believed in that sort of false deception.

"Hey, it's Uncle Paul," in my ears it will ring,
Through wires and coils, with nothing but miles in between.
It will always make me smile, even on days that bring me my worst,
Because I will always remember, the one who said it first.