it's your long, gray braid that i love the most.

a wisp of wisdom cascading down your back,

never tangled, whispers hymns through all the madness.

crumbs of noodles and rice spill from it while you walk,

leaving a trail to all the hearts you've touched.


your eyes, they are bright and mighty.

your bones, they are small but sturdy.

your spine, it's stitched with scripture.


your hands, they make you human.

the cracks in the skin hold an entire family together.


you may be well into your 70s,

but never forget

that every wrinkle ripples a story.

i'll never tire from hearing yours,

and i'm glad you are part of mine.


Robert Bloom

The person you're speaking of, whether grandmother or someone who acted as that kind of figure, sounds like a delightfully wonderful person.

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