~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She had a way about her,
So stout and sweet was she.
And in her years bore many
Yet a grandmother to me.

She giggled like a maiden
Behind her tiny hand.
Her eyes told of the ancestry
Of her mother, Ireland.

I remember her on Sundays
In leopard coat and hat.
The smell of her perfume
Filled the pew wherein we sat.

In her busy kitchen
When I would take a peek,
I'd see her in her apron
Flour dusted cross her cheek.

Lately, I can see her
When I look into the mirror.
And I remember Mother.
Yes, a bit of her....still here.

11/13/2001

Posted on 11/13/2001
Copyright © 2024 Mary Ellen Smith