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Poem

“Rambling is not how the crow flies; 
it is how a rose covers the wall in perfume.” –  by poet

At the Rambling Club, they met each other:
Nanna and Grandpa, before they were lovers.

Inadvertently late, when finally home, 
She’d climb in the window all on her own.

He was a buyer of silk from houses in France,
And she was a shop girl glad of romance.

When I was a child in their house in the night
I’d hear them talk softly, but never a fight.

Laughing out loud was a trademark of his;
Kindness and elegant grace were hers.

I’d hold his big hand and walk down the street.
He’d stop for a chat with the people we’d meet.

She knitted my jumpers and mended my clothes.
She let me climb trees and taught to me to sew. 

The hug at the door is the thing I loved best.
I cherished them, miss them, and yes, I’ve been blessed.

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