I was rummaging through my grandmother's things at my parents house and came across a scrapbook that our extended family made for my grandparents 50th anniversary in the 1990s. I came across this poem that my dad wrote for my grandmother. I loved it and wanted to share it with you.
by Dan R. Owen
She's wrinkled now, her once smooth skin
Remembers when we nestled close,
And cuddled tenderly
At two, or three or seven.
She's cleaning now,
recalling days we crawled upon her floors
And slammed her doors,
As she toiled within the kitchen.
She's cooking now, with bony hands,
For herself, and a white haired man,
Recalling countless meals she made,
When gathered round her table laid with food, we prayed,
And talked of daily family things.
She's rocking now, recalling when
She rocked us slowly, closely,
Holding tight and patting out our fears, our tears, our sorrows,
And gave us strength for our tomorrows.
She's lonely now, her furrowed brow
Considers times when blonde babes
And bright eyed kindergarteners were her daily partners.
She's praying now, in quietness,
Naming our names before His throne,
As countless days and years she's done,
That God might bless us, every one.
She's reading now, with glasses on her nose.
God's book which in our hearts still grows,
Because she put it there, so many years ago.
She's lying down to sleep at last,
Unconscious how her fleeting past,
Has formed and shaped the lives we live,
And colored things yet future.
And I, her long gone middle son,
Wearied with the setting sun,
And resting neath the peaceful moon,
Remind myself to call her soon.