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My Grandmother

By , Cambridge, MA
Every time I argue
with those wrinkled hands,
and that sad calm smile,
I see myself reflected in another
generations eyes.
I wonder what I will be like
when I am reflecting my grandchildren.
and every time I argue
with those wrinkled hands,
and that sad calm smile
inside I am praying that it is not,
for the last time.
I would pull ice out of the fire
I would cover the sun with
tears of snow,
if I could argue,
just one more time,
with those wrinkled hands,
and that sad calm smile





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sierradelrae16 said...
Sept. 17, 2012 at 11:49 am
I love this poem, it reminds me of everything with my grandmother
 
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