My Grandfather's Sweater Poem by Eric Ericson
My Grandfather's Sweater
I know the endless ball of wool…
the gentle hand that formed each stitch…
the tender love that that made it grow,
and…how a shirt can't stop the itch.
How twisted with arthritis' touch
those loving hands once strong and straight,
to keep her dieing husband warm,
they labored long with love so great.
And now, you sit upon my shelf
for me to wear and stop the chill
of winter's often cruel embrace
a testament of love and skill.
Now watch me WHIP 😎 _/||\_ _/¯ ¯\_ \😌 || \_ _/¯ ¯\_ 😜 👊/||\_ _/¯ ¯\_ Now watch me NAE NAE \😄 || \_ _/¯ ¯\_
A lovely poem, showing the love of a lady for her spouse. The sweater makes a nice keepsake, too. I still have my father's college letterman's jacket.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/1/2024 4:23:57 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Now watch me WHIP 😎 _/||\_ _/¯ ¯\_ \😌 || \_ _/¯ ¯\_ 😜 👊/||\_ _/¯ ¯\_ Now watch me NAE NAE \😄 || \_ _/¯ ¯\_