Poetry

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I remember when I used to walk up and down,
That hill in Mirror town.
I loved the place where my grandparents lived - the top of that hill, all dusty.
A place of fresh air, nothing musty.

Actually, Mirror is more of a town than a village,
One grandparent in town, and the other on an acreage,
You can walk most places, either to downtown or to the hall.
To floor curl, but not to my other grandma’s when she calls.

But I love it there,
Being in the fresh air,
I spent time there when I was young,
But this is the first time it’s been rhymed on this poet’s tongue.

Wherever I went, I encountered kindness,
But now, it’s just a memory of goodness
My grandparents are no longer there, but my uncle is,
I still love Mirror; it’s a memory of a hill and bliss.

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