Gray hair, wrinkled skin and a grandmothers charm.
She lays there in her bed so still as I caress her arm.
She mumbles to no one about going out to play,
And about the dress her mother made for her that day.
She talks about, and to people who have long since gone.
People that she loved, or she just had known.
Thou her eye see me they do not comprehend.
I am not her grandchild but a long lost friend.
I sit and talk with her about what she will.
I talk as if we are both there in the past still.
Then for just a moment she sees me for who I am.
She reaches out and touches my face with a frail and feeble hand.
She fades back into her distant past as I draw her near.
I that God she does not know that I shed a tear.

11/03/1989

Author's Note: Written about my wife's grandmother not long before she passed away.

Posted on 06/02/2004
Copyright © 2024 Charles M Harrison