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Age
His eyes were as blue as the sea,
they sparkled as he played with his young granddaughter.
He beamed as he watched her grow up,
he would never be able to express his adoration for her,
and she would never be able to do this for him.

Her heart sunk as she watched him grow old.
When she was younger she’d always joke that
he’d live until he was a hundred years old,
that age was creeping ever closer.
They saw each other daily and chatted as if
they had all the time in the world.

She couldn’t imagine a life without him…
She had always thought he was invincible,
but over the years his face had become hollow,
and he began to become short of breath.

She vowed to make the most of the time they had left,
she promised she wouldn’t view him differently,
the only difference now was that it was her job
to look after him, rather than the other way around.
Salmabanu Hatim Oct 2018
"Granny, granny,come look at me."
There was excitement and urgency in my granddaughter 's voice,
I hobbled as fast as I could my cane thumping on the floor.
I stood there inside the door chuckling.
My granddaughter had become me,
She wore a tweed skirt high on the waist,
A white blouse with a high collar and a bow,
On her face she wore one of my specs which she had smeared with a bit of vaseline,
The effect was so that she could not see clearly like me.
She had put some pebbles in her shoes to enable her to hobble ,
Her hair she had combed into a bun.
Lastly she put on white gloves which she explained she had borrowed from my cupboard.
she held a dainty white laced handkerchief.
"How do I look, granny?"
"ME! I laughed.
"You will be the best granny in your school  fancy dress party.
Pray, remove the vaseline from the specs or you will fall down,
You can borrow my cane too,
I love you dear munchkin."
Ms. Naomi you were such a surprise. I did not know what to think where I heard that you were coming. When I looked into those big pretty eyes I fell in love. You were born with sarcasm and a warm heart.
You are like your grandma.
At just a few weeks you and your Mommy were arguing. You wanted to eat and she was learning to feed you. You pushed her and fussed and she fussed back. I knew then that you were a fighter.
One day as I held you your eyes were closed.
I kept trying to get you to open them. You turned your nose up and turned your head. I thought this child is mean. You then turned back around and smiled. I have been in love with you every since. You are such a beautiful baby girl. Your Grandma loves you. Thank you for being mine.
My second grand daughter and third grandchild.
Salmabanu Hatim Jul 2018
My cutie cute granddaughter,
My sunshine, an innocent flower,
My soul in blossom,
My love, awesome,
Joyful, friendly and free,
As the wind, ocean and sheltering tree.
She is my today and tomorrow,
Whose fragrance erases my sorrow.
Never boring, impish,talkative,
Chirpy and inquisitive.
Most of the time glued to the T.V or her iPad,
Cannot do without ******* her thumb,
When scolded becomes glum,
It makes her mum mad,
With studies she is an honoured star,
My child is a blessing,a family avatar.
Happy birthday my love.
Speak of her with a lowered tone
A face that honours, respects and restores
Her memory.

Your gratitude can be seen in the glimmer in the tear
That sits on your lid, never daring to fall.
Your quiver remembers her kindness and relays the stories she used to tell you at your bedside.
Stories of past, of necessities and the way things were.
At the foot of her bed, you sat cross legged for hours, sinking into the warmth of each other’s company; reading, sewing, nurturing, feeding.

You feel the softness of her shawl, the modesty in each stitch.
The humble life of Irish poetry, song and stews on a Sunday.
She allowed your nature to embark on a beginning so fruitful, giving courage and strength with each act thereafter.
Protected in a tender part of your memory, she sits waiting for you to return. Safeguarded in your thoughts, she becomes the beacon that you use to guide you through trying hours.

Your gratitude can be seen in the transformation in your expression, the beautiful surrender that succumbs in her honour.
This poem is about the relationship my mother had with her grandmother, the woman who raised her and was so quickly taken from her at the tender age of 10.
Cynthia Jean May 2016
To hear my sweet
granddaughter's voice
is such a gift
to me.
So far away
she lives
her precious face
I seldom see.

Tonight I got to
talk to her
How blessed a time
it was...
She read me
stories and prayers
and even the
23rd Psalm!

My heart yearns so
that I'd be there to
read her bedtime stories
but such a gift it was....
that she read them
to me!

cj 2016
Daylight 4U2C May 2014
"Grow up tall,
little kid,"
said grandpa Joe.
And so I did.

The watermelon grow tall too.
The sunflowers look to the sky,
keeping their chins up,
raised real high.

So maybe it's silly,
watching grass grow,
but if you never try,
how could you ever know?

So maybe it's crazy,
chanting for the rain,
but if it never comes,
how could I grow the grain?

I'd prefer to stare at clouds,
than sleep forever like a rock,
skidding by life.
Why, that would just ****!

So, if you ask me to leave this here place,
you better shove it,
before you wake up
in an unknown space,
******* with lace,
with a disfigured face,
completely full of mace,
and a strange case
of something poisonous.

— The End —