She

She

There is a book on the table,
I open it now and again.
It reminds me of many yesterdays,
spent with a dear friend.

She loved vanilla ice cream,
black coffee and sometimes tea.
She was a grand old woman
and a wonderful friend to me.

Lying on her lap, She sat in her easy chair.
My head on one side, and my feet over the other.
She sang sweet lullabies to me.
We sang hymns from the choir book...
the one She kept at home.
My bedtime stories came from the bible
and I remember her chewing gum...
Peppermint on her breath when She spoke to me.
She loved Wrigleys.

Her hair was grayer than anything I had seen.
It was almost silver and with every bit of sheen.
After all these years I still can not believe...

She is gone.

So much to tell her...so much I have done.

On Sundays Grandpa would drive us to church.
Never getting out of the car. I think he was already holy;

She and I went though and we sang.

She was already holy!

Some Sundays, mine eyes cry.

Copyrighted 2002 Cynthia E. Jones Art Copyrighted Ashley N. Jones

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Photo was taken on December 25, 1968.
Aunt Hattie, Dad is holding me, and Grandpa is to the right.
I had to touch up in places, the photo is damaged and scratched.
Dad would have just turned 23 and I was almost 3.

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'She' was written for Aunt Hattie. My Dad was twelve when his Mother died. Her name was Anna and she was a baby when her parents brought her to America from Hungary. After Grandma Anna died, Grandpa went through a terrible depression and he really never recovered. Aunt Hattie (Grandpa's sister) invited him and his two sons to live with her so she could help take care of them.