Worn… and laced between her crooked fingers,
are ever present beads of faith and hope.
In despair her wretched body lingers,
she’s loosing precious memories to cope.
Across her lap is spread the quilt of age,
her shoulders bear the shawl many trials.
The quill of life has filled her every page,
inscribing gospel of her trodden miles.
My grandma sits alone most every day,
with eyes too weak to even read a book.
It’s been this way since grandpa passed away,
it breaks my heart and I can’t bear to look.
I wish that there was someone I could blame,
for she no longer recollects my name.
Silver trophy winner
Adding your comment:
'sssssssssssss for you.
