Yep! She Gonna Rain

First time I saw him, on the porch, rockin' in that chair
I was no more than five or six, shy beyond compare.
"Come, sit her, son," he slapped his knee, "Sit a spell or two."
Across the porch I bounded, leaping into arms clad blue.
Back and forth we rock'd, on that chair that became our craft
Grandma called, "Your dinner's cold!" Reluctant sailors, aft
The mast descended abandoning poor Zanzibar
To pirate invaders. "We'll be back, little later
And drive them back! Oh, cheer up, Son, no need for such pain.
There's no where else we're going, cause, Yep, she gonna rain."

It seemed, no time, I outgrew that lap. Stories we shared
Were precious. Upon that porch, beside that rocking chair,
I'd pull up a crate, lost in magic, as across skies blue
Flew the Atlantic in Lindbergh's Spirit of Saint Lou.'
That chair he bumped harder wrestling those crocodiles,
Man-eaters with nasty teeth; but slow as sleepy smile
Begged, "Don't stop! Take me back outside Troy's gates
And rescue fair Helen. I'll bust out that horse. Await
My sword, you miscreants!" He swoop'd me up. "On your pane
Soft drumbeats play. These bones tell me, 'Yep, she gonna rain'!"

I grew up, mov'd 'way from the Delta to San Antone'
But never miss'd Friday nights with Grandpa on the phone.
He always had another one. Amazing he knew
So many! At times, by embellishments, stories grew
Especially as declining years made him forget
An ending now, or two. Somehow, he made it all fit.
That horrible afternoon, my wife call'd me at work,
"I'm sorry, Hon', just heard that Papa's with Jesus now."
Back, on his porch, his rocker sits, 'waiting him in vain.
Drew up my crate, bow'd down my head; Yep! She gonna rain!