Grandmother |
| by Dash_doll |
She sits beside me, her back stooped with age.
Her hands, wrinkled like a dried out grape,
tenderly stroke her faded rosary.
Her lips, pink as my faded ballet shoes,
carefully form the prayers so important to her.
Her words are but a murmur, a rapidly sinking
pebble in this pool of life.
I envy her, with her fervent beliefs,
her hopes of the world yet to come.
I pray the rosary as she does- -
but it is a different prayer.
For I pray with the vigor of youth,
she with the wisdom of age.
Someday I will take her place.
The sun will set for me, as it soon will for her.
But today I am young - and I live in today.
I shall not fear tomorrow, because this is today.
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