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When Grandma died, I found some things

                         Gifts midst tears that sorrow brings

                          Old doll babies with twinkling eyes

                                A storybook of lullabies 

                           
                             I found boxes filled with paint

                         Containers with perfume scents faint

                      I found within her crafting box, trinkets, beads

                                      and doll hair locks

                      
                        The cabinet of her sewing machine

                         Held treasures that I'd never seen 

                             Of snaps and buttons from '59

                       Obvious workings toward layette mine

                          
                           Some bags of yarn and fabrics too

                             Yellow, orange, pink, baby blue
                           
                               A wide array of colors green
                            
                         Among her tools and sewing machine
                          
                        
                           And then as Christmas rolled around

                         Those silver bells? A sadder sound....

                       Was ringing through my heart and mind

                            Christmas joy, I could not find                         


                          I knew my mom in heaven's light

                          Would surely smile in pure delight

                              As I crafted grandchild gifts

                             In memory, her, gazes uplift

                           Grandma's love from in the sky

                            A gift of love from her and I

                             
                           Again, as Christmas rolls around

                            Sweet memories of past abound

                           I pull near empty sewing drawers

                        Out from her cabinet, which now is ours

                              
                             Nearing Christmas in the air

                          Again, for treasures, I'll prepare

                          I love my kids with all my might
                             
                       And oh, those grandkids, such delight!!
                    
                     
                      I ponder to the years ahead when all is
        
                                Done, and all is said

                         And I lay down my weary head  

                         Upon my own departure's bed...

                          
                         What gift from heaven would I leave?

                       Some beads, and yarn, a loom to weave....

                          Cute buttons, fabrics, dolls and toys

                     From my own treasures and childhood joys?

                      
                    But surely most importantly, for each of them.

                                   Of course, for me;

                        Is when I've flown this earthenware

                      That they not mourn in deep despair

                     
                          A gift of hope, of love of faith

                   That Grams no Zombie...nor a wraith!

                      A glance to heaven's mighty Light

                     With God's own Son where all is right!


                 And that each one knows well their worth

                              Long before I leave this earth

                     So when they go through my old things

                              Scrapbooks, letters, notes;

                                          Love Rings!

                              
                             Silver and gold are rare to me

                       But loves shines brighter, brilliantly!
                          
                        I hope the gifts that I'll bequeath

                     Are swords of light and love unsheathed

                       
                               Hoping not to feed landfills
                          
                       Of stuff that breaks, long lost of thrills...

                          But with each gift a love sublime

                      That grows in worth of joy through time.
                           
                           
                             Well, finally, I will end this poem

                            And to my crafting room I'll roam

                             To create gifts for them from me
                           
                             To share beneath the Family tree
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