Sta.sh
The Value of Old People
What beauty is there, you ask, in gnarled hands,
Wrinkles and loss of youthful figure…
I’ll tell you a little story, about a person,
Very dear to me she was,
It’s about a very old lady I visited once a week,
She liked cheese and vegetables,
Oh yes, and pickled beets too!
She worked in a large garden when she was young,
Sold vegetables and fruits at the market,
Weeded and toiled over a five acre patch of strawberries,
Gathered eggs from under irritable chickens,
Clucking cantankerously,
She told me about her nephews and nieces, great grandchildren, and great-great grand children,
She showed me her beautifully painted nails and her photo albums,
Exclaimed and laughed with me, just like a grandma,
Tapped her head saying that she was just gettin’ too old to remember everything,
I didn’t know, when I told her goodbye that last week,
What was to come. When I came again a week later,
She was gone. 98 years she was, when she died of pneumonia and lung infection.
I wish I could’ve hugged her goodbye once again,
And told her how much she meant to me.
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touching poem dear...
The ending choked me up..