My Gran Poem by Michael Morris

When I was small I thought my Gran
Was there just for my sake
And I took her love for granted
How selfish can Infancy make

The hearts of those too young to know
That of all the things on Earth
A safe and loving childhood
Is the gift of greatest worth.

And when I grew a little more,
And went to Grammar school,
My Gran, who knew no Latin,
I almost thought a fool.

Then as a youth who knew all things
But for none of them gave a care,
My Gran became an irrelevance,
Sat in a fireside chair.

When I thought at last that I was a man,
My Gran had gone to her rest
And I had marked her passing
With a suitably cynical jest.

But now I recall the peace she would bring
Just by being there
And how it seemed the little ones
Would gather round her chair

As if they knew that round them
Her love would build a wall,
Strong and safe and special
A refuge for them all.

And now I think of her often
Of the hard life she had led
Of four of her sons who had marched away
And of two of them who were dead.

And of her daughter, Mary,
As to womanhood she grew
Taken by that foul disease
That crowded living knew.

Yet my Gran was never bitter
Though her eyes would fill with tears,
When she thought of what just might have been
As she looked back down the years
But if her spirit still lives on,
As surely our spirits must
Once more I’ll see her smiling eyes
Once more I’ll know the trust

That Gran would give to all she met
Whoever they might be
But most of all I’m waiting for,
A forgiving kiss for me.