Is grandpa here or can he come her still?

GRANDPA'S CABIN

(A Weber Winter Day)

Hopeful, we labor on through knee deep snow.
Some steps the crust holds firm, other sink in
to leave us puffing down the drift filled road.
Tin roof awakens tales of long ago.

The family camped in tents, the cabin rose.
River bank, bridge, and grove were all his too.
He pondered here the tree-filled site he chose.
His soul found peace, eyes rested by the view.

Anxious, I light, relight the fire...no flame.
The wood we brought too green, the woodpile wet.
Freezing, must we retreat the way we came?
With bark and bits at last a fire is set.

O glorious, sylvan, sun-splashed afternoon!
E'en birds keep silence here, or else have flown.
High window seat - whiteness below in tune.
A space, a time, a peace not elsewhere known!

The river rippling sends the only sound.
Silence awakens awe of God's display.
Waters, escaping bars of ice and snow,
on ceiling cast a shimmer through the day.

Is Grandpa here, or can he come here still?
To see his children's children here at play?
To see God's gifts bestowed by his good will,
or share the shimm'ring sunlight's bright display?