In The Woods Below

Any time I return, my heart starts to ache,
For Granny, dear Danny, no one could fake.
Beloved of children, of girls and of boys,
A pillar of courage, a bringer of joys.
Where is the laughter, the sparkle, the glow?
She rests in the quiet, the woods far below.

Your harvest endured from season to season,
Your coins lay in pillows, safe with good reason.
Merchants adored your grains-gleaming gold,
Never a kernel of chaff to be sold.
Where is the farmer, the banker, the glow?
She rests in the quiet, the woods far below.

Each time I left or returned from the city,
Your prayers, your hugs, your dances and smiles,
Kept me unworried and happy for miles
Your gentle short frowns, your anger so mild,
Could never outlast the heart of a child.
You’d beckon us close to taste what you made,
As though your sure hands in the kitchen might fade.
Do you still smile, dance, pray, and bestow—
Or just rest in the quiet, the woods far below.

I could never tire of your welcoming home,
A compound so wide, yet you swept every loam.
A grandmother’s house, yet spotless and bright,
With a pot of warm porridge that lasted each night.
The endless calabash we drained to the brim,
And fruits without seasons, forever in prim.
We still long for granny,  the friend that we know, 
But she rests in the quiet, the woods far below.

By Teacher Kevin Ouma

Copyright © Teacher Kevin Ouma | Year Posted 2025

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