Sitting With Gran.
Gran half blind stares at the sky.
Her snow-white hair bushes out
In an explosion of curls. I used
To sit here with you on my lap,
She says, and rocked you to sleep
While your mother went to the shops
Or off to work. You sit beside her
In your brand new suit and short cut hair,
Listening to her words as they hang in the air.
Your father was never much good at work
Or things that mattered, she says, knowing
He’d let her down, despite her brand of love
And concern. Don’t be like him, lad, be one
To be counted on, to be aware of others
Than yourself, don’t be blinded by self-love
Or what counts for you or your own
Small world. She looks at you with her blue
White eyes wherein a long ago world slowly dies.
poem by Terry Collett
Added by Poetry Lover
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