There, that smile.
The smile which has
known a million tears
of joy and sadness
amid a thousand
wrinkles of love.
The smile which
tells of thousands
of comforting cuddles
and beamed whilst
toddler's tears
were wiped away
from a grubby face
with perfumed hankie.
The smile which gave
a thousand hello kisses
and blew a hundred
birthday candles.
Told a thousand
bedtime stories
and ate a hundred
Rich Tea biscuits.
The smile which says
'I love you'
is smiling for me now.
Grandma's smile.
- Author: dusk arising ( Offline)
- Published: February 28th, 2020 04:17
- Comment from author about the poem: I never knew my grandparents but i know what they are, I have a vivid imagination being a poet. Heck, Im a grandparent myself now.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 37
- Users favorite of this poem: Saxon Crow
Comments5
Brilliant summary of loving Grandparents - most remembered are times we felt closer to them than to anyone else - - what a fine tribute to those "million tears " hidden by wonderful smiles - a great read my friend.
Thank you Fay. I never met mine. I'm pleased you liked this piece.
DA that really touched me. Totally Faved. I have such good memories of my grandparents. Brilliant poem
You lucky person, I never met mine. Thanks for commenting, pleased you felt this one.
Oh what a picture you paint here.. these words so fine should really be dedicated to Grandma's everywhere.. You certainly got mine off to a T
Neville
Yep, I have a vivid imagination. They're certainly special arent they.
Beautiful 🌹
Both my grandparents passed away, they were kind souls ❤️
Yo're lucky to have met them, i didnt meet mine at all.
What a wonderful write d a, it certainly moved me although I did not know either of my grandmothers the feeling that you put into your words certainly showed me their love.
Andy
Same as you, i never met my grandparents... all in my mind.
I knew both my grandfathers and my mothers father I can still see him as he went for his pension on a Thursday morning, Grey trousers polished shoes and blazer with his army badge on the chest pocket and his Old Contemptibles badge on his lapel and walking to and from the bus stop tall and straight, almost marching. That image has never left me.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.