My mom only three
Not a single memory
Of that big tall soldier
Used to bounce her on his knee

The Irish man gone,
Grace raised her little girls.
She pierced their ears and
she brushed their curls

And every month she bought two bonds.
Told them stories so they could go beyond
the iron in the ground, the lumber on the hill.
That small town two girls watched out the window sill

Between the man’s death and hers
Grace lived 50 years
But still she loved him
And the daughters they held dear

Words are letters only,
The sounds they disappear
It’s the sadness in our hearts
That will keep our grandma near