My grandmother

The years she left behind,
and all the joy and sadness,
Run through the furrows of her face,
Wrinkled leather marinated in emotions,
Eyes that sparkle with evergreen grace.

Wispy tresses that swayed in the years gone by,
The shadow of cover for my little father,
And Comfort for my grandpa's eye.

Those bonny hands weathered the times,
Sewed dreams in sparking satin,
Must have rustled up a billowing delicious smoke,
And lightened up a humdrum evening.