Grandmother

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Memories of us drift through me:
Kneading dough in the kitchen,
Surrounded by music and love,
Protecting me from a cruel world.
Toes wrapped in homemade socks,
We worked, exchanged old jokes,
Chattered about Wimbledon; but
Death slipped through our shield
And snatched you away from me.
Like threads in our special socks,
I unraveled, one string at a time
Until I picked up tangled threads
Of my life, turned on our old tunes,
And kept my ball of string close.





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SmileyFace13 said...
Aug. 16, 2011 at 8:43 pm

this is so simple but really beautiful. Good job :)

If this is a real story i'm sorry for your loss.

 
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