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Grandmother's Garden
My Grandmother's Garden was a special place,
Filled with flowers in every space,
And of every color she could find,
They grew and thrived, each their own kind.
My Grandmother's garden was a special place,
Filled with God's sweet loving Grace.
She gently removed every snare,
And nurtured each with loving care.
My Grandmother's garden was a special place,
Filled with everything from pink Carnations>
To Queen Anne's Lace,
Butterflies and hummingbirds visited there,
As the fragrance of the flower's perfume filled the air.
A Grandmother's garden is a special place
Planted with love in every space.
Tenderly tilled with loving care,
Making room for all who grows there.
A Grandmother's garden is a special place
Filled with God's sweet loving Grace.
Tenderly caring for all who grows there,
Each little child so innocent and fair.
Written by One Missouri Country Girl January 03, 2008
Grandmother
Her words are pearls of wisdom,
She has a heart of gold,
Her tenderness and caring
Give others wealth untold....
Her gentle smile, her helping hand
Make memories rich and dear,
Her loving way of living
Grows more valuable each year....
Her warmth and understanding
Are priceless beyond measure,
She's precious to her family....
A grandmother is a treasure.
Author Unknown To Me
GRANDMA'S SHOES
When I was very little,
All the Grandmas that I knew,
All walked around this world,
In ugly grandma shoes.
You know the ones I speak of,
Those black clunky heeled kind,
They just looked so very awful
That it weighed upon my mind,
For I knew, when I grew old,
I'd have to wear those shoes,
I'd think of that, from time to time,
It seemed like such bad news.
I never was a rebel,
I wore saddle shoes to school,
And next came ballerinas,
Then the sandals, pretty cool.
And then came spikes with pointed toes,
Then platforms, very tall,
As each new fashion came along,
I wore them, one and all.
But always, in the distance,
Looming in my future, there,
Was that awful pair of ugly shoes,
The kind that Grandmas wear.
I eventually got married,
And then became a Mom,
Our kids grew up and left,
And when their children came along,
I knew I was a Grandma,
And the time was drawing near,
When those clunky, black, old lace up shoes,
Was what I'd have to wear.
How would I do my gardening?
Or take my morning hike?
I couldn't even think about,
How I would ride my bike!
But fashions kept evolving,
And one day I realized,
That the shape of things to come,
Was changing, right before my eyes.
And now, when I go shopping,
What I see, fills me with glee,
For, in my jeans and Reeboks,
I'm as comfy as can be.
And I look at all these teenage girls,
And there, upon their feet,
Are clunky, black, old Grandma shoes,
And they really think they're neat.
The above poem was sent to me
by e-mail and I thought you might enjoy it.
The Author is unknown to me but
I wanted to thank her anyway,
I bet she is a Really Kewl Grandmother.
Author Unknown To Me
YOU SAY I AM GETTING OLD
You tell me I am getting old;
I tell you that's not so!
The "house" I live in is worn out-
And that, of course, I know.
It's been in use a long, long while;
It's weathered many a gale;
I'm really not surprised you think
It's getting somewhat frail.
The color's changing on the roof,
The window's getting dim,
The wall's a bit transparent
And is looking rather thin,
The foundation's not so steady,
Weaker than it used to be;
My house is getting shaky,
But my "house" isn't me!
A few short years can't make me old-
I feel I'm in my youth;
Eternity lies just ahead,
And life, and joy, and truth,
I'm going to live forever then;
Life will go on - it's grand!
You tell me that I'm getting old?
You just don't understand!
The dweller in my little "house"
Is young and bright and free -
Just starting on a life to last
Throughout eternity.
You only view the outside shell,
That's all that most folks see.
You tell me I am getting old?
You've mixed my "house" with me!
Author Unknown To Me
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Dreams By Margie Harrell
