Family

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Grandmother's Place


Grandpa gone, and Grandma sad;
She came to share the best we had.
My Dad, (her son) and Mom and me ...
She shared the house with just us three.

Now Grandma couldn't hear real well
And you had heard the tales she'd tell.
Her old hands shook. She spilled her peas,
At suppertime, upon her knees.

That bothered Dad and Mom. (Not me.
For, I was very young, you see ...
Not "set", they say, upon my ways,
As people get in older days.)

One night she spilled her milk, again.
And Dad and Mom, with faces grim,
Set her a table all apart ...
As I looked on with anxious heart.

We ate in peace and quietness,
Relieved of our "unpleasantness".
But, she cast anxious glances at
The table, where we privileged sat.

I thought it must take grown up minds
To understand this act, unkind.
Perhaps, my Grandmother would learn
To listen, use care, and wait her turn.

One day, I sat upon the floor
With building blocks, I did adore.
When Father passed and stopped to ask
The end result of my small task,

"A table, Father. Then, you see.
It's where, when I am grown, you'll be;
To eat with Mother, when you are old
And your hands tremble, fail to hold

Your food securely on your fork,
When you can't cut that piece of pork
Or, maybe spill your milk or tea
Or, tell again the same story."

At suppertime, I raised my eyes,
Delighted with a great surprise!
For Grandmother sat, in pleasant ease,
At our fine table ... looking pleased.

Restored, forgiven, with Patience King!
My parents, both, to her side bring
Each bowl and kindly serve her well ...
A gracious lesson love can tell.



© by Joan Clifton Costner

http://underhiswings0.tripod.com

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