Emma
Up in that old attic are an antic Raggedy Ann Doll and a rocking chair well used by my grandmother.
Grand she was and as great as she to be; she instilled value and principality.
Up in that attic is an old Raggedy Ann Doll and an antic rocking chair my great grandmother rock from.
Short in statue but tall in her stance, my great grandmother guidance departed wisdom.
In that attic is all kind of memories of how my great grandmother and I loved each other as family.
Friends bonded and she as a life-long mentor, in that old attic resides expressive art.
In a far corner that was east to the sun stood a portrait of my great grandmother.
Knowledgeable was the face with eyes of hazel brown painted at the age of seventy-five (75).
The reminiscence of youth is a mural seen as I sat down in the rocking chair thinking… (“Mama, let’s read The Bible together.”)
In this old attic is love unknown because of the time I had with my great grandmother before she was beacon home.
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