Almost ninety seven, born in nineteen eleven,
a different time for sure.
Two wars on hand, destroying land,
the second one, the worst to endure.
Memories of happiness, giving much, receiving less,
Laughter ruled the day.
Moments of anxiety, no room for much variety,
when war called Dad away.
Paintings swapped for food, never lost her mood,
she walked those miles with child.
Always optimistic, hardly pessimistic,
family compiled.
Devoted to her God, but never forced a lot,
left it to us to make our choice.
We didn't follow her way and to this very day,
she never raised her voice.
Almost ninety seven, born in nineteen eleven,
She still is optimistic, hardly pessimistic,
Enjoying life, she says.
Bronze trophy winner
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