Best Grandchild Poems | Poetry
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Grandchild of Mine
by Muzzey, Caryl
by Babcock, Phyllis
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The Best Grandchild Poems
*GRANDMA WAITS IN THE GARDEN*
Hi, grandpa, it's me again!
Your dentures sit in an open glass above the nightstand
Remember the tears grandma sang before she passed?
The way she looked into your eyes,
Moments before she said her goodbyes
Grandpa, I found a note from grandma,
She waits for you.
Hi grandpa, it’s me again!
The rocking chair is old and dusty
Remember the way grandma sat me on her lap?
Read many stories before I took a nap
How she enjoyed stroking my hair with her hands
I miss the way she rocked me to sleep every night
I stored your hearing aid away
Remember that special musical box in grandma's drawer?
I opened it last night, to watch the ballerina soar
I wish you could hear the tiny chimes grandma loved
I hope you don’t mind, I’m keeping grandma's favorite scarf
I'm caressing grandma’s picture frame
Remember the way she looked in the yellow pretty sundress?
Grandpa, I miss the things grandmother did for you
Like the walking cane, she handcrafted before she left
Hello, grandpa, it's me again!
Here I sit holding your hand
I have no more tears
Soon you will see her again
She will no longer be alone
Say hi to her, give her a kiss
Tell her I miss her so much
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013
The chair is her home, her universe now
It is all that her many years will allow
Helena’s elegant beauty once shone
Now her mind wanders a world of its own
Age has changed her body but not her heart
Many great stories she’d always impart
To the wide-eyed grandchild she admired so
A girl who has loved her since long ago
Tales of black velvet gowns in which she’d dance
Soft moonlit beaches where she found romance
Economic hardships that came to pass
The rise and the fall of each social class
Her hands and face are now weathered with age
Accounts of the past still flow from this sage
And though some repeat again and again
I still listen now, just as I did then
I’ve memorized these tales, her gifts to me
And always I’ll remain her devotee
It matters not that my name escapes her
Love from her eyes she can always confer
Grandma brushes fingers across my face
And whispers, “Beautiful,” as we embrace
Though I miss years when she knew me so well
I know in the past her memories dwell
My love for her lingers, it always will
I take comfort knowing she loves me still
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010
I bought two new books for you today my sweet boy.
The Wizard of Oz and the Jungle book should bring joy.
I'm very proud of how wonderfully you read.
As an English scholar, I know you will succeed.
I see your picture in the morning when I rise
As I observe your dark hair and sparkling brown eyes
The thought and sight of you really makes me smile,
Although, when I saw you last, it's been quite a while.
I miss watching you laugh and play riding your bike.
I love photos sent of you and Dad on that hike.
You love to have fun in the sun I know, I know...
You race and ride that ATV just like a pro.
Your mommy sends me sweet pictures which makes my day
I would love to find a letter from you today.
You look so dashing in your boy scout livery
With badges bravely sought and won with chivalry.
Your Kung fu lessons have trained mind and body well
I'm proud of you my dear grandson and I can tell
The kind of compassionate soul you will one day be.
I pray to God you will be blessed eternally.
Sometimes tears fall because you live so far away
I long for your kisses and hugs most everyday.
Please don't ever forget how much your Gram loves you.
You have my heart, and with your smile I can't feel blue.
© Connie Marcum Wong
-Poem of the day April 11, 2018~
5th place in Emile Pinet's Non-Romantic Love Contest
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2018
You can see him now, dirty as a horse
that slipped in the mud, planting petunias
with that infamous shamrock thumb
(Irish from his Pop Appendage from his Mum)
stopping every now - and again -
to breathe deep that fragrance
rich with pheromone nostalgia
just like Grammy Georgina used too do
the apple doesn't fall far from the tree
I can still see her now, in her glory days,
with lovely lemon locks soaking up the summer sun,
rooted in that old-fashioned train of mind:
You don't stop your work until it's done!
(but a walking contradiction, just like her grandson,
... rose to her nose like ruby rebellion)
the tree doesn't grow solely from the ground
Water's an important player too,
especially from grandma's showering can
(laughing tears the shade of crystalline blue)
Course you can't forget those lifetime lessons either,
from dear ole Georgie, speaking with a sunny kind of seriousness,
about the importance of patience,
the fruitfulness of labor,
plucking up the surviving winters' courageous cucumbers,
the ground isn't just a place for our feet
Cause with her and I, we incinerate the stereotype:
young blood reflecting on infinity,
old knees dancing like she's got chipper chipmunks
for toes giggles in the background like a photobomb
to the expected chapel silence
(it's not all peaches and cream though,
sometimes we get violent)
Orange slush, flying miles behind us,
at times getting grazed in the face
by nature's food fight
our feet between the squish squish of the crab apple
We were two peas, if you please, in a curious pod,
like a whimsical joke from a laughing God:
Me, the champion of her scallions,
the guardian of her garden,
leaving all sensibility befuddled
with an, "I beg your pardon?"
I wonder if she knew then the gravity of the situation,
watching mama scream bloody murder,
as I came into this world ...
... was she scratching her head, lips curled, in questioning amazement,
just like Newton must have been, when developing his theory?
What d'you suppose they both were thinking?
The apple doesn't fall far from the tree ...
Written March 27, 2016
For the Cliche Contest Hosted by Silent One
Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2016
I once had knew a man
Who became older than a dead man
A tired soul, he was.
Looked like he'd never seen a bed
His gray hair resembled a cloudy day,
With fog, and his swollen eyes -
- looked like someone had just punched him in the face
His skin was wrinkled like a dollar bill in a child's pocket
Told to put it in his wallet, but Gosh darn it, he didn't think it
the skin on his face was sagging like the jeans of a teenage delinquent,
Or like borrowing a pair from someone who weighs a hundred more than you
His back was hunched like he was searching for answers that lie upon the ground
He had always kept his walker close to him, it helped him get around.
Too someone else, he may just seem to be an old man
But too me, he is a gold man.
'Cause That's my old man.
Copyright © OP Threat aka God | Year Posted 2017
“Good-bye my daughter dear,” she said
As tears welled up in her eyes
“It’s time for me to go to sleep
This must be no surprise
The good Lord knows my battles
And my health is ailing still
He’s given me so many blessings
I’ve passed them to you in my will
I’m sad to say good-bye
For we have shared much joy
Remember me to Sarah
My grandchild I love and enjoy
I love you my daughter
These years together have been sweet
I’m so glad you love the Lord
And again we will meet
I’m not afraid of dying
‘Cause I know that in a while
Christ will call me from my grave
I feel my life has been worthwhile
For I taught you to seek your Father
To help you through every trial
He’ll always be there to guide you
With never a denial
I leave you in His hands”, she said
As she gently kissed her daughter’s hand
Her eyes closed very slowly
Against cancer she’d lost her stand
She’d been a wonderful mother
Teacher and true friend
Faithful to her Lord
And gracious to the end.
Copyright © Maureen LeFanue 2007-2012
Copyright © MAUREEN LEFANUE | Year Posted 2012
Those happy, golden years, the children growing up—
Great days of joy, some tears, sweet nectar in our cup.
So blessed the three of them had come into our life,
Each one a special gem—years spent with little strife.
Oh my, those years went fast—so soon an empty nest.
Can’t hold on to the past, but sure those years were blessed.
The empty nest took hold, such quiet filled our days.
Kids followed dreams of gold—we lifted them in praise.
We filled our days with friends, and came and went as pleased.
Life changes as it lends us time to feel appeased.
Few years went by, behold! A second chance to spend
Our time again to hold small babes, with joy attend
To love and cherish each, and watch them grow each day,
To play with them and teach! What joy had come our way!
Time passed…grandkids of five no longer babes for sure,
Well on their way to thrive, now grown up and mature.
Again, the years went fast—another time to test—
Can’t hold on to the past. Oh my, those years were blessed!
Our empty nest, twofold! Such quiet fills our days!
They too chase dreams of gold—we lift them now in praise!
We celebrate with cheers the cherished life we spent,
Two times of golden years with young ones, heaven sent.
Sandra M. Haight
Contest: My Lovely Children
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Contest: Golden Days
Sponsor: Rob Carmack
Iambic Hexameter, Internal Rhyme, Couplet Rhyme
Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2015
Footsteps on stairs,
little feet pounding, running,
child faces peeking round the kitchen door,
expectancy alive, dancing in their eyes.
They know that love is always here
waiting just for them.
Each one thinks he is favorite;
in his or her own way, it is true.
Each is the most special
not for anything they say or do,
just for being.
We have our rituals -
breakfast French toast and bacon,
back rubs and funny faces,
ice cream after church,
backyard camp outs,
lots of love, laughter.
Happy takes me by surprise
each time I look
in my grandchild’s eyes.
© September 11, 2015
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2015
Lovers chance a tango dance;
passion lights the dark.
Swaying bliss, a stolen kiss,
music ignites sparks.
Romance swirls with hand-held twirls;
eyes gaze with desire.
Red wine lips and tango’s dips
set the floor on fire.
For Andrea's 5/7 Trochee Contest, 3/29/15
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015
I lived my best in season of the sun,
those yellow, mellow days when cares are flung
to June’s warm breeze, and childhood is begun,
a field to wander in, and all is young!
I lived my zenith in the summer heat.
Ah, zephyr of sublime and untried heights!
Blue sky, July, and taste of kisses sweet
still haunt my mind in cool midsummer nights.
In August came dry winds, and I was torn
from my adobe of early gleeful days.
My children both at summer’s end were born,
and now a grandchild in new sunlight plays.
When dusk, unhurried, comes, I live my best.
In Virgo’s sun may I be laid to rest.
For Brian Strand's ANY 2012 POEM any theme/
any form max of 18 lines Poetry Contest
and now for PD's Any Form Under 15 Lines Poetry Contest
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2012
Letting go...sometimes it happens twice,
Eventually, as life does cast its dice.
The little ones we raised flew from the nest,
Though for sure, the time we shared was blessed.
Into our lives there came the second chance;
New little ones to share our lives, enhance
Grandparent's joy to love; lives interspersed.
Gift of second chance soon followed first...
Off they fly, now grown, new paths dispersed.
How quick the years go by when we
find joys we think will never pass.
Although they do, we happily
accept the new ones we amass.
joys of parenthood
relived with young grandchildren;
next joys...their success
Sandra M. Haight
Contest: Letting Go - Three Form Style
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Premiere Contest: Your Best Poem From Any of Laura Loo's Contests
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016
Car doors slam, country quiet broken
A race ensues… front door flies open
Dogs start barking, excitedly running
A happy day... grandsons are coming
Overnight bags in a flash are dropped
Energy released can never be stopped
"Papaw! Momo! We're here!" they yell
All that is missing is a ringing doorbell
Hugs, big smiles, checking all rooms
We stay mostly outside all afternoon
A walk up the driveway for a short hike
Playing on porch or riding their bikes
At supper they tell all that they know
Story after story and swear it is so
Baths, snacks, teeth brushed and bed
Tucked in kisses after prayers are said
Tired dogs look at us with questioning eyes
Is this temporary or for the rest of our lives?
Beside each child they settle for the night
On alert for a sign something's not right
Exhausted, we smile at our pride and joys
Grateful to have this time with the boys
Pure Childlike Fun and Enthusiasm Contest by Carin Krutsinger
Third Place - June 2018
Copyright © Susan Gentry | Year Posted 2016
Close your eyes my darlin' girl,
day is done, time for dreams to unfurl.
Dream of pretty ponies p r a n c i n g by,
of fairies and princesses as well,
maybe even visit Tinkerbelle.
Dream of having wings to f l y
then soar through rainbow tinted sky,
up where angels dwell.
Angels will keep watch
as you dream your sweetest dreams
cocooned in loves warm mantle.
Sleep, my darlin', sleep
until morning rises fair.
Follow your dreams where they lead.
For Laura Loo's Three Style II contest
Copyright © Kim Merryman | Year Posted 2016
The mute old drunk had gotten lucky the day before - a stranger had taken pity on him at the bridge, (under which he and many other homeless people lived), and stopped to give him a brand-new fifty-dollar bill. He hadn't seen his granddaughter in many years, and had sworn often that if he ever had
fifty dollars at once, he would spend it on her. Straight to the thrift store he went, (before he had time to change his mind), and with the help of a kindly cashier, bought a pair of girl's Nike's, being assured it would please a teen. On his walk back to the overpass, his thoughts struggled to find a way to
get the gift to her, as his daughter, (her mother), and he were estranged, and she wouldn't let him near their house, let alone bring a gift. Maybe this whole idea was a bad decision, and yet in his heart was conviction that he was doing the right thing. Coming from the market, he had to enter under
the bridge from the opposite end of where he slept, walking through an area he rarely got to. Losing his balance on a small stone, he stumbled and dropped his package, and upon picking it up looked to his right. The girl was no more than a teenager, yet there she sat amidst the box city, dirty
face and clothes, and barefoot, a weary, exhausted look in her eyes - already tired of life, yet barely a woman. The old man, homeless and hungry himself, saw her glance in his direction, but he couldn't look away - couldn't stop wondering how such a beautiful young girl could have reached this
sorry fate at such a tender age. He hoped he wasn't leering, but he was spellbound by her, the whites of her eyes striking contrast to her brown iris,
and though she wasn't smiling, her lips were parted enough so he could tell her teeth were perfect and sparkling. She had streaming, waist-long black
hair, as straight as pulled silk, (and seemingly as fine), though it was unkempt and a bit oily, and blemishes on her face ... acne? She was young, but seemed a bit beyond the age of pimples. She glanced up again and he smiled, but she looked away quickly, and he was sure this time that he was
making her feel uncomfortable. Still, he couldn't help but stare ... what on this earth could have brought this angel here, to this ragged refuge under the bridge? And then he saw her arms ... and legs, riddled with needle marks and tiny bruises, and he knew. The blemishes made sense now as
well, for he had seen those lesions many times, but usually in older addicts ... irregular sores on the face, that seemed to never heal. Oh yes, he knew very well what the opiate demon looked like, had felt its bite and euphoric power, and had only escaped it himself because of the booze. When he
ended up on the street, he was forced to make a choice, and alcohol was the only thing he could not let go of ... the one thing he could always find or steal or finagle out of someone, so that was the devil he slept with now. But he knew the others well, and had seen far more than enough of all it
could do to lives, young and old. So many friends he'd lost to that beast - so many, and here another, a lovely, young life battered on the reef of addiction, selling her soul, (and body), for the sake of not being sick. She glanced his way again, and still he stared - he couldn't help it, for she was
about the same age his granddaughter was, (though he hadn't seen her since the day of her birth), and looked much the same she would look like. This time she'd had enough, and feeling his stare to be a bit more than curiosity, got up to leave. He moved quickly, however, and crossed the
distance to her, smiling on the way. Much to his surprise, she smiled back ... she asked him quietly if he wanted something, and his heart sank, for he knew what she meant. He let her know at once, (with a hand gesture), that he was not interested in THAT, and her smile disappeared quickly, fading to
the lost, hungry stare of earlier. Almost immediately she glanced back at him with suspicion, for why would this old, mute drunk be bothering her, if not for sexual favors ... what else did he have in mind? She told him she had no money and that she needed to go, so he gently held onto her
elbow. She quickly shook it loose and took two steps back, asking louder what he wanted. But he couldn't answer, and just pleaded with his eyes for her to not be afraid, but the more he tried, the more frightened she looked. Finally, he put his index finger to his mouth, (to quiet her), kissed it, and
touched it gently to her cheek ... he then slowly unwrapped the package under his arm, and placed the brand-new sneakers at her feet, (seeing at once that she would fit them perfectly). When he glanced at her again, she was crying. She began to say something to thank him, but he quickly
hushed her again, pointed at his heart, smiled gently, and walked away, beaming from his soul. He didn't need any booze for the rest of that day ... or the next, and he knew in his heart that the shoes were the right gift, after all ... and that they had found the right pair of feet.
The following year, after rehab and fourteen months of sobriety, he told his granddaughter the story, and she cried, too ... smiling.
* FIRST PLACE in the "Random Acts of Kindness" Poetry Contest, Kai Michael Neumann, Sponsor. *
Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2018
My sons and daughters
You sing no song of daylight
For the sun is your enemy
You sing instead of shadows and darkness
And the memories of your midnight meetings
Turning twists and turns of events
Have rendered me sleepless
In grave you laid me to rest
Booms and bombs for lack of security
Gives me no peace as you said in my burial day
“Mzee in peace me”
You have forgotten the meaning of the real state
And masterminded the meaning of real estate
The love for the nation that I left
The flowers that beautified the nation
I can’t really see them again.
I love the way you promise my people
Good health but the doctor are still on strikes
Good education but the teachers are not paid
Fine security but most of them still die
My sons and daughters, what have you done after mzee?
My people died in Mpeketoni
My relatives died in Westgate
My children died for having nothing in the plate (unga)
My grandchildren died in Mandera
Your brothers died in Garissa
Oooooo my God, you deserve a whip
Did I carry my whip, what a waste you have done to my people?
I send you Baba
Go go go go rescue my people
Go whip out the corrupted culprits
Go give my people employment
Go give them food
Go beautify the nation by considering the environment
Go take them to Canaan, I send you
Copyright © MASONI ALEX | Year Posted 2017
If I am ever taken hostage
I hope it’s by my grandchildren
They will take me to a park,
And make me swing and slide,
I will crazy laugh
And chase them down
Play and play
Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018
The story of Granddaughter Lily
By Franklin Price
The story of granddaughter Lily
Is one I feel compelled to tell
Of talent that revealed itself
Really from the starting bell
At her birth and I was there
Entered the stage oh what a sight
Star of the show she was that day
A prelude to this Friday night
Precocious as a growing child
Entertaining was her thing
If one or more were in her view
Never missed a chance to dance and sing
Then came the play in seventh grade
Pirates of Penzance the name
Tried out for the leading role
And so began her school play game
We were there and cheering proudly
She sang and acted as a pro
At the end applauding loudly
We hugged her neck said way to go
The years have flown since way back then
She has performed in song and dance
Lily a high school senior now
Curtains in the Pirates of Penzance
We will be there to watch the show
Grandparents cannot stay away
We'll clap and cheer embarrass her
Celebrate this final high school play
I know this will not be the last
For entertainment is her thing
On to college and on from there
Excited to see what life will bring
Copyright © Franklin Price | Year Posted 2015
B eautiful boy
R ough at play
Y oung and curious
C uddly and loving
E normous energy
A ngel from heaven
L oving and loyal
I rresistibly huggable
A dorably cute
N eat and outgoing
A pple of our eye
Copyright © Susan Gwynne-Galfe | Year Posted 2014
Teenage Girls clad in the latest fashions,
Do it whenever they meet,
Grown men aren't afraid to show some passion,
When their team's comeback is complete,
They can say hello, they can say goodbye,
And anything inbetween,
If you open your arms and crack a smile,
There is nothing that a hug cannot mean.
Copyright © Al Parry | Year Posted 2013
I always thought that I knew love
How intense that feeling could be
But, you were my gift from above
Just exactly what I'd need
I never thought I'd be a mother
I thought that time had past
It was a shock to believe another
For I was pregnant at last
I was 39 at the time
I felt kind of tired and old
My doctor said that I was fine
And a child is precious like gold
It wasnt always very easy
Being pregnant, working each day
Some times I'd get kind of queasy
But, eventually it went away
Tests, ultrasounds, bloodwork , all were fine
An amnio to see if you were okay
Monthly appointments, filled much of my time
Everything was progressing each day
I worked until the day before
Your grandparents flew out to see
I was very ready, couldn't take no more
Wanted my child for just for me
Finally the day had come,when I was to see my son
I got up early, got everything ready, even checked your room.
Slowly I drove to the hospital ,awaiting for the fun
For this was it what I had waited for, i'd see you before noon.
At the hospital they readied me
A Doctor put a catheter in my back
My Mom and Dad rushed up to see
Their grandchild in a wrap
I told them of my nervousness
How I forgot the words to say
So together we as a family
We were able to pray
I had to wait for a long time
Emergency twins were on the way
They said I was next in line
In the holding room was where I stay
So at 930 they brought me in to the room
They draped a sheet in front of my face
I hoped my head wouldn't zoom
I wanted to start this race
At 9:54 you came into my life
Your Dad ran to the end to see
The child that was bore by his wife
We became a family of three
My eyes filled with tears and I felt joy
It was all so new, I never had felt it before
Here's your child, perfect, handsome, and its a boy
For on that day my love for you grew even more
The bond between a mother and son
Is a story that can't be told
To look into your little eyes, I was overcome
My memories of that first time will never get old
So on this day when you had came
Was the best day I could have ever thought
Never mind fortune and fame
To have a child is a lesson in life that can never ever be taught.
Copyright © Jennifer Marie Oliver | Year Posted 2013
To be called ..
~ Grandma is a Honor ~
I have been blessed with 4 Grandchildren
~ one lays in Heaven " Kaleb " He is God's Angel ~
~ His twin brother he will always watch over , and be in his soul~
For he loved his Brother so much in the womb ,
he chose Heaven which gave life to his twin
~ I feel his spirit when I see the other Grandson ~
Time passed another gift to see
we are " Mickes" and Loved
Our Dad held the title in Baseball
~ that's how we roll ~
those children are Grandmas hero's
The Irish they love big and Family is everything
The brothers will protect the beautiful sister
~ as many lads will be calling ~
Every time my Grandson hits a home run
There will be a Angel watching proudly in the stand
It will be as if the Angel lifted him when he runs
~no one runs faster then my Grandson~
either baseball or Art ~ you shall find your gift given
These children have been blessed~
~ a beauty to hard to describe
If you think not ~~ Take a look at the Mom
That girl can stop Traffic
after raising three and still~
"Inspired by the gift and loss of Grandchildren "
May our precious " Kaleb " softly rest where Angels only Dwell
Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013
My grandfather and I had a special relationship.
When I was young we lived near his home in Baltimore. But, my family moved away from
Baltimore when I was five and we lived most of my life in another state far away from my
grandfather. Whenever he called, however, I was the one grandchild he always wanted to
talk to so we could discuss his beloved Baltimore Orioles. I was the one grandchild who
followed sports closely and always remained a true Baltimore sports fan.
Later in life, I learned that my grandfather was actually a gifted baseball player himself when
he was young. In those days, he would explain, professional baseball players did not make
enough money to support a family so he had to make up his mind to either play baseball or
get married and raise a family. As it turned out, his love for baseball was only surpassed by
his love for my grandmother and, although he hung on to the newspaper clippings that
labeled him a “can’t miss professional baseball prospect”, he hung up his cleats and glove,
married my grandmother and went out to find a “real” job.
But his love for the game survived and year in and year out, he and I discussed the
intricacies of the game and enjoyed or lamented each baseball season based on the
successes and/or failures of the Baltimore Orioles. As crummy as the Baltimore bums are
today, I was fortunate enough to experience and share many more successful seasons than
poor ones during those limited years that I shared life with this amazing man.
I always felt sorry for my grandfather, considering him a victim of poor timing. Had he
been born about 50 years later in life, he would not have had to pick between being a
baseball player or earning a living – in fact, with his talent, he could have earned a much
better than average living while enjoying the one thing he loved most in life.
When my grandfather passed away, I was sure that he was joining a heavenly nine to once
again strap on his spikes and don the leather. Without a doubt, they must play baseball in
heaven. And I wait for the day that I sit in the heavenly bleachers and cheer on a young
grandfather playing this wonderful game with other boys of summer.
(Inspired by, “is there baseball in heaven”, by Constance, A Rambling Poet)
Copyright © Joe Flach | Year Posted 2010
Sweetie pie, cutie pie
you are special in my eye
Giggles, giggles make me smile
come and give a hug for a while
Smiles, smiles all the time
little grandchild of mine
Trucks and cars
ice cream and bars
Boats and blocks
keys and locks
walks around the block
while we stroll and talk
Time for a nap little one
today we had our fun
Each day with you is a special one
My little man, my grandson.
Copyright © Phyllis Babcock | Year Posted 2011
I had a senior moment
Computer I was on
I was on the Face Book
Then the bloody page was gone
My Grandson came to my rescue
Cause me I had no clue
He sat down and worked it out
Me, I did not know what to do
Now computer is back on form
I am so pleased, am I
If it happens once again
I will call this clever guy
Copyright © Vera Duggan | Year Posted 2016
There's a little history to this particular poem. I know I wrote it when I was 11 or 12 years old. I wrote it for my Grandma Dorabel, who is today 90 years old. I also wrote it for my uncle John who had been taking care of her at the time; I didn't want to leave him out so I put on the letter: For Grandma Dee and Uncle John! I wrote this short little poem along with a drawing of a cat and some flowers. However, I actually never sent the picture to her! My parents and I must have forgotten to send! To me that was unacceptable! I thought to myself today when I found the picture, I must send it now! The picture is now on its way to her, so I am happy she will at last receive it.
You can send me a bouquet of flowers,
You can order me a box of chocolates,
You can buy me a fancy outfit,
But flowers don't last,
Chocolates eventually disappear,
Outfits get out of style,
Yet Love never fades,
And it's the most precious gift of all
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013