I Held Her To My Heart
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My grandma and a rose are the same, each is
God's masterpiece but with a different name."
_by Constance
__________________
My grandma took this broken child,
she held me to her heart;
and through my weeping tears I smiled,
when she called me sweetheart.
Grandma was a storyteller,
I would sit on her lap;
often, she was a taleteller,
and after I would clap.
And she encouraged me to write,
she gave me a journal;
I wrote my sadness and my fright,
things I kept internal.
I recall my sweet attic room,
on my grandparents farm;
and with love I began to bloom,
I recall her sweet charm.
With her love I was given wings,
as I grew we were close;
with my grandma I shared all things,
till age problems arose.
In a nursing home she waited,
I would go to see her;
she told me her life was fated,
soon her words were a blur.
I was there the day she left me,
and I held her to my heart;
I am now a writer would be,
because of that sweetheart.
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August 29, 2021
Poetry/Quatrain/I Held Her To My Heart
Copyright Protected, ID 08-1385-198-29
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, The One Who Touched My Heart
sponsor, Regina McIntosh, Judged 09/14/2021
Third Place
Submitted to the Standard contest, A Strand (1063)
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 02/01/2022
First Place
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2021
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