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Rated: E · Poetry · Family · #1056165
A new brush sweeps clean, but the old fits my hand. That is something she would say.
A flower blooms
above her ear,
A smile dawns
upon her face.
Laughter peals
from her sweet lips,
Tears seep
out of the cracks.
Wrinkles tell
of stories old,
Shared cries
and lonely laughs
(some teeth are real
some teeth are not).
Her blue eyes hazy
Now they're clear.
My great grandmother,
my friend.
© Copyright 2006 Tretion (debatekate at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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