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Hollyhock House by: Thomas Kinkade "Painter of Light" |
Grandma's Hollyhocks |
Memories of my Grandma,are etched within my mind Hard work and faith in God,a very different time: She was of German decent,'Twas sinful to have fun," On crippled painful leg,she worked from sun to sun. I tried so hard to help her,but my small hands could not, She'd scold and take the broom,saying,"child you missed a spot!" Grandma didn't know, the pain that scolding caused, Blinded by her own pain,she'd finish up my job. I don't remember smiles from her,but what I do recall, Is Grandma's vegetable garden,where she'd harvest food for all; With nimble hands,she'd prepare,a large wondrous meal, Then hobble to that big black bell,call Grandpa from the field. I loved my Grandma's garden,for at the far south edge, She grew a row of Hollyhocks,pink colors,white and red; The only thing of beauty,in Grandma's toiling life, The tall stems swayed in breeze,as daylight turned to night. Long gone is Grandma's garden,but memories still remain, Of Hollyhocks in garden,and Grandma's walking cane; And so at edge of garden,today I grow the same, Lift my eyes to heaven,and call out Grandma's name. BY:Bobby Smith (copyright:2000) (4th collection) |
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