Grandma's Gifts
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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
Copyright © Bj Legros Kelley | Year Posted 2022
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