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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)