A Poem I Wrote In Memory of My Nana, My Mother's Mother Who Half Raised Me.
"And Sometimes You Hold on to the Memory of Love"
Love is not a tangible thing you grasp, like an apple on a tree.
Love is illusive, like vapor, twists and turns,
Caressing our cheek, perchance causing a tear to fall,
Like dew drops on a summer morning.
I don't remember her uttering words of love
It was her actions of unconditional caring.
I absorbed her love like osmosis,
Letting the tendrils of her affection wrap me.
Her hands were worn, wrinkled, but strong.
Her silvery grey hair was always curled.
Her dresses were homemade, a pattern she created.
Her wealth was her unlimited love.
My memories of her weave in and out of my life.
Warming my heart with the richness of remembered devotion.
Death cannot sever the threads of our attachment,
At birth our blood melded us together, never to be severed.