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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required 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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