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My Swedish Grandma
As I wiped the portrait, I lingered at her eyes.
They were blue and sparkling, the kind that hypnotize.
She was my Swedish grandma, a pioneer so strong.
She came from distant Sweden on a journey oh so long.
She left her home and kinfolk with her spouse one sunny day
Seeking fame and fortune in the good old USA.
They crossed the sapphire ocean with hopes and dreams yet fears.
They put their trust in Jesus to tend their future years.
Escanaba, Michigan, was where they settled down.
They were happy to be with the Swedish folk in town.
Grandpa worked the railroad; Grandma tended house.
She kept it clean and tidy to please her loving spouse.
Jesus blessed this union with two cute progeny,
Little girls so charming, they graced the family.
Grandma was a great cook, used butter all around.
All things were delicious, and no HDL was found.
Grandma was cleanly to the max; her home was free of dust
For she mopped and scrubbed and swept – she nit-picked and she fussed.
She flourished as the years passed by surviving four big wars,
A Great Depression, assassination, and flue deaths by the scores.
I was born one cold March day in 1951,
And she beamed a joyous smile at the life which had begun.
We were pals. She spoiled me, and I loved her Swedish “jive” –
Her lilting speech, her soft, sweet voice made me feel alive.
She called me “liten vella.” I was her precious girl.
That little phrase means more to me than all that’s in the world.
Grandma lived a long life – she lived for 90 years
The Lord took her to glory where there would be no tears.
I slowly tossed my dust cloth, dreamt when I was a tot.
Grandma left me many things, my favorite - a teapot.
I enjoy the old antiques. They’re like a legacy.
From my Swedish grandma who loved and cherished me.
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