Treasures of Your Soul
A lonely little girl lost and frightened of the world,
I knew only of sorrow, tears and death;
I hid myself in the tangle of my hair and refused to talk;
Hugging my only friend and companion, a doll,
Then Grandma took me under her wings and changed my life.
In an attic room, I cried and cried . . .
We would sit in her sunny kitchen with the teapot,
From fine china cups we would sip and dunk;
She told me stories of the past, of people I did not know;
I watched her lips and her changing expressions,
And inside of me a seed was planted, a gift given.
She gave me a writing journal and my own pen,
Write me a story was her only request;
And in my sweet attic room, I wrote and wrote,
At the kitchen table she would read my stories,
Grandma saved my life, slowly I found my little voice.
She is my treasure and when she died my heart broke,
I will never forget the kindness and gifts given;
She took a broken child and gave her the skill of words;
A grandma, a muse, an angel that watches over me.
Now in a peaceful cemetery I read her stories that I write.
In an attic room, I cried and cried . . .
___________________
August 10, 2013
Poetry/Verse/Treasures Of Your Soul
Copyright Protected, ID 08-498-023-10
All Rights Reserved, 2013, Constance La France
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