When I was small I thought my Gran <br />Was there just for my sake <br />And I took her love for granted <br />How selfish can Infancy make <br /> <br />The hearts of those too young to know <br />That of all the things on Earth <br />A safe and loving childhood <br />Is the gift of greatest worth. <br /> <br />And when I grew a little more, <br />And went to Grammar school, <br />My Gran, who knew no Latin, <br />I almost thought a fool. <br /> <br />Then as a youth who knew all things <br />But for none of them gave a care, <br />My Gran became an irrelevance, <br />Sat in a fireside chair. <br /> <br />When I thought at last that I was a man, <br />My Gran had gone to her rest <br />And I had marked her passing <br />With a suitably cynical jest. <br /> <br />But now I recall the peace she would bring <br />Just by being there <br />And how it seemed the little ones <br />Would gather round her chair <br /> <br />As if they knew that round them <br />Her love would build a wall, <br />Strong and safe and special <br />A refuge for them all. <br /> <br />And now I think of her often <br />Of the hard life she had led <br />Of four of her sons who had marched away <br />And of two of them who were dead. <br /> <br />And of her daughter, Mary, <br />As to womanhood she grew <br />Taken by that foul disease <br />That crowded living knew. <br /> <br />Yet my Gran was never bitter <br />Though her eyes would fill with tears, <br />When she thought of what just might have been <br />As she looked back down the years <br />But if her spirit still lives on, <br />As surely our spirits must <br />Once more I’ll see her smiling eyes <br />Once more I’ll know the trust <br /> <br />That Gran would give to all she met <br />Whoever they might be <br />But most of all I’m waiting for, <br />A forgiving kiss for me.<br /><br />Michael Morris<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-gran/
