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The Light of Grandma



My grandma wasn’t beautiful…

Unless you viewed her soul;

Her awkward body ravaged,

by disease; which took its toll.



Her sight had clouded long ago,


And when I looked into her eyes,

There was no color and no shine

She’d lost the blue of Heaven’s skies.



In essence, just a farmers’ wife,

Yet, true and loving in her heart.

Hairtied up in a tight gray bun.

Her soul, Gods’ work of art.



When I sat close beside her

And her arms around me draped,

I felt the wonder of her life…

My own small soul, she shaped.

IlaMae Stucki © 4/20/2011 (family)