Wednesday, 24 September 2014

Over the Hill

Hands worn
Legs bowed
Eyes dim
My grandmother sat quite still

I smiled
And she
Did say
“I’m not quite over the hill”

We laughed
And kissed
I knew
She was in me, good and ill

So firm
And true
Each goodbye a bitter pill

Would I
Be strong
Like her
When deaths call came shrill

Image from


  1. Since she is in you, it may be so. I hope--I'm sure--you celebrated together.

  2. Oh how I resonate with this poem. I sat beside my grandmother for so many hours in her last years, as she slowly took her leave, her will first but her strong heart still was a privilege to be there when she made her transition, and I have no fear - I know it will be the same for me. At such a time, the body goes on automatic pilot, and the will surrenders to What Is.

  3. p.s. Thanks for your lovely comment on my poem, Old means a lot to me.

  4. I wrote about my grandmother too. They seem to have been a great influence on our lives and will remain with us until the end.

  5. wish we could all be as resolute when the uphill journey comes to an end.....I like the form and the rhythm of the lines...

  6. I like what you have garnered from her. What a warm piece, felt like whispering it out.

    You are such a supportive, faithful friend.

  7. I considered it a great privilege to be able to travel to visit my grandmother each year in the final years before she passed. She was the last survivor of nine siblings and although I know it must have weighed on her, she was raised in an era when one handled such unpleasantness with grace. If I age with half her grace I'll have done well.

  8. The image and words are so solid and foundations passed on..i think a person can be strong and sacred...maybe thats' what keeps us going in a way

  9. Such a nice sentiment, knowing you carry your ancestors. Yes you should be that strong to.

  10. Great tribute-One is lucky to have respected elders living together...they give tremendous love support guidance and the strength of character.

  11. Aging is the pits. Don't mind getting old but frail? No.

  12. How sweet, if we were lucky we had that same Grandmother, and I miss her still today.

  13. nice piece on facing our own demise, and recognizing the grace that our loved ones have had in doing so themselves.

    BTW - it's "death's call" (not deaths call). Randy

  14. What a wonderful photo and poem!

  15. This is wonderful! It never ceases to amaze me that each of us is a conglomeration of our ancestors yet still unique. Your grandmother was lovely by the way.

  16. A truely lovely poem .. serene.