She Called Me Her Friend
Come, sit awhile, the old woman said,
Nodding knowingly with a cheeky smile,
She pulled up a chair and beckoned me
I knew she had many stories to tell,
And she was eager for good company.
The aged have a way of collecting tales
For the ears of the young like you and me,
So I listened to every story she told
Like they were the most important ever,
As her life's adventures began to unfold.
Widowed by the fighting "over there,"
She had raised three children all by herself
By taking in laundry and mending clothes
Until her fingers were bent by arthritis
And any job she could do--none of those.
"It's tough for old folks like me," she said,
But I could tell she had weathered through
And she would endure to the blessed end
It was a deeply satisfying afternoon when
As I was leaving, she called me her friend.
So there will be times when you are tired
And wish you could hurry home to relax,
When an older person wants to share
Stay around for them, it will be rewarding,
To hear their story when no one else cares.
written August 5, 2021
FIRST PLACE WINNER
Brian Strand's Contest
August 9, 2021
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