Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Gran half blind stares at the sky.
Her snow-white hair bushes out
In an explosion of curls. I used
To sit here with you on my lap,
She says, and rocked you to sleep
While your mother went to the shops
Or off to work. You sit beside her
In your brand new suit and short cut hair,
Listening to her words as they hang in the air.
Your father was never much good at work
Or things that mattered, she says, knowing
He’d let her down, despite her brand of love
And concern. Don’t be like him, lad, be one
To be counted on, to be aware of others
Than yourself, don’t be blinded by self-love
Or what counts for you or your own
Small world. She looks at you with her blue
White eyes wherein a long ago world slowly dies.

the insight of our elders should at the very least garner our attention, so we may process it with other info in order to make an informed opinion......I always listened carefully when my grandparents spoke, I knew they were going to tell me things my parents would not.......enjoyed this remembrance.....

Thank you, Saw & the mingo.

You're very fortunate, I never knew my grandparents.

A befitting poem in her honour.

~A

Fortunate indeed. Sorry you did not know your grandparents.
Thank you for reading.