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Grandmother
November 30, 2010
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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Favorite Quote:
"Most people die of a sort of creeping common sense, and discover when it is too late that the only things one never regrets are one's mistakes." Oscar Wilde <br /> <br /> "The books that the world calls immoral are books that show the world its own shame."
this is so simple but really beautiful. Good job :)
If this is a real story i'm sorry for your loss.