Jan 2020
As I ran my hands over
The cold wood of her coffin
My hands reached the place
Her warm heart would have been in.
The cold wood of her coffin
My hands reached the place
Her warm heart would have been in.
This poem is a tribute to my grandmother, an extremely wise and beautiful lady, whom I lost 3 years ago. No matter how time went, the emptiness of a cheery soul lingers. I hope she's at a better place now, showing the angels how to sow neat patterns....
