Für Meine Urgroßmutter

March 31, 2018
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She ages with youth,

And bleeds with history;

German at her lips, 

Words a mystery.

 

Four rosaries at her bedside, 

She waits for her time;

Her thoughts are muddled,

And bitter like lime.

Her joints are creaking,

Her hunch is pronounced;

Her spirit is young,

But smile unannounced.

 

I dread the day,

She lays on her side;

Falls asleep,

And dies in her pride.

Her independence is lost,

Her mind isn't quiet;

Her presence is muted,

A soft graced riot.

 

She ages with youth,

And bleeds with history;

German at her lips, 

Words a mystery.






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