The cups rattle
Here comes the tea
We are visiting grandma don't you see
The house is dark
The lights don't shine
They're not put on 'til dinnertime
She thinks we're deaf
She shouts at us
She lost her hearing aids, not us!
Hear the rattle
Brings in a tray
As her best china's on display
Filled with pleasure
She pours the tea
Now she splashed it on wife and me
Aloud she shouts
She's much to say
Visitors are few down her way
Brings out album
Of pictures old
Strange people huddled in the cold
She nods and smiles
Her past recalled
Reliving moments quite enthralled
Rain in England
And snow in France
Her eyes light up as memories dance
Her fingers move
It's time we went
She clings to us her back is quite bent
Few weeks later
Heard that she'd died
Harmless Gran, we were sad and both cried
Image found at www.pixabay.com
Ah, what pleasure she took from your company, pouring cups f tea, going through old photos and memories - the most important thing to the elderly, as we now know ourselves. She looks like she was a happy soul. I love your poem, Robin.
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