Irish Grandma's Dream of Heaven

When I get to heaven it will be St. Patrick’s Day
There will be a lassie there playing a harp merry and gay.
She will be wearing Irish colors, and there will be corned beef.
When I finally die of this cancer, it will also be a big relief.

But don’t angels wear white or pastels? Her grandchild asked.
There will be cabbage and shepherd’s pie, and ale in a flask.
Grandma was in her own world now, dreaming of a better time.
When she could taste Irish soda bread without standing in line.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2023

Poem

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

Rodrigues Avatar
March 4, 2023 at 12:03 PM
Do you have cancer, or was this another or a story ((care))
Krutsinger Avatar
March 5, 2023 at 12:22 PM
Another story. All I have is shingles, and although painful, after four years, if they are killing me they are sure taking their sweet time about it.
Get a Premium Membership
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a Premium Membership.
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace