My Gramma’s arms were soft and warm,
Her hugs a refuge from the storm.
Her soft brown eyes, her dimpled chin,
Mirrored the gentleness within.
Her love she freely gave to me,
She gave it unconditionally.
She never asked me to conform
To other’s visions, to fit in,
She allowed my spirit to be free.

I wish she hadn’t had to die
So young, I never said good-bye.
She slept, so I crept ’cross the floor
And silently slipped out the door.
Her peacefulness raised no alarms,
For God would keep her safe from harms.
Remembering still makes me cry,
Oh what I wouldn’t give once more
To find myself held tight in Gramma’s arms.

Linda E. Newman ©
All rights reserved.  Used with permission
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