Grandpa gone, and Grandma sad -

She came to share the best we had.

My Dad, (her son) and Mom and me -

She shared the house with just us three.

Now Grandma couldn’t hear real well had heard the tales she’d tell.

Her old hands shook - she spilled her peas

At suppertime, upon her knees.

That bothered Dad and Mom - (not me

For I was very young you see -

Not "set", they say, upon my ways

As people get in older days.)

One night she spilled her milk again,

And Dad and Mom with faces grim

Set her a table - all apart,

As I looked on with anxious heart.

We ate in peace and quietness -

Relieved of our "unpleasantness"....

But she cast anxious glances at

The table where we "privileged" sat.

I thought it must take grown up minds

To understand this act unkind -

Perhaps my Grandmother would learn

To listen, use care - wait her turn.

....One day I sat upon the floor

With building blocks I did adore,

When Father passed and stopped to ask

The end result of my small task.

"A table, Father, then you see

It’s where, when I am grown, you’ll be

To eat with Mother - when you are old

And your hands tremble - fail to hold

Your food securely on your fork -

When you can’t cut that piece of pork...

Or maybe spill your milk or tea -

Or tell again the same story."

At suppertime, I raised my eyes

Delighted with a great surprise,

For Grandmother sat... in pleasant ease

At our fine table...looking pleased.

Restored, forgiven, with Patience King!

My parents, both, to her side bring

Each bowl, and kindly serve her well -

A gracious lesson Love can tell.

Joan Clifton Costner
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The Library

All pages are listed in

the Library.

My Dreams


Awards Two



For My Mother

God's America

Wave On