Clara

There’s a woman of 83

She stands five foot tall, 

But presents herself at at least six feet.

She’s what we call a fighter,

But not with weapons

Or words does she arm herself,

But pure willpower.

Forty years she’s spent at the same pew,

Giving all her devotion.

Fifty years she’s dedicated

To being a loving mother of three.

Sixty years she’s given

As a devoted volunteer,

Seventy years she’s spent as a worker,

Scrubbing up any mess at hand.

Eighty-three years she hasn't retired,

But carries on with her head held high.

Her whole life she's loved,

But only one man with unquivering dedication. 

She’s not only my Grandma,

She’s my hero.

At five feet she doesn’t stand very tall,

But her heart is of the highest height.

When I reach my time of old age,

I can only hope to aspire to have lived my life

as perseveringly benevolent as she did.

This poem is about: 
My family

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