For grandmothers

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Anne Agnes Ferguson (1920–2010)

The years have come
And the years have gone.
Tracing their delicate lines.
Each a signature
Each a sign
A tale of hope or joy

She’s older now and tired somehow, but the selfless streak’s still there. The smiles she gives to every and all, are anything but rare.

Smiles and laughter
Sobbing and tears
Have all left their own small mark
And still life’s joys are written there
Though the journey’s long ago embarked.  

How many hours all through the night
Did she sit by her children’s beds?
Through sickness and health
Through struggle and wealth
Unselfishly giving herself.

She’s older now and tired somehow
But the selfless streak’s still there.
The smiles she gives to every and all
Are anything but rare.

A veteran of life’s many wars
Like a soldier she bore it all
Fighting always for her family
Like a soldier strong and tall.

Her greatest love was music
Behind her family of course
It gave release and pleasure
It gave her quiet soul a voice.

She never has been famous or rich
Known only by a few
But through troubled times she’s come
Her eyes say: “Could we tell a tale or two!”
 


Jarrod Stackelroth is associate editor of Record.