There sits an old lady,
her hair full of gray.
Let me tell you of her,
that is if I may

Her flesh is all wrinkled,
it shows little tone.
Her frail tiny body,
so thin to the bone.

She stares into the distance,
her thoughts of the past.
Her days are now numbered,
she knows they won't last.

She's someone's Grandmother,
for she is not mine.
For mine has been departed,
for a long, long time.

I pray this lady not forgotten,
that someone soon to show.
Extending to her love and affection,
that loneliness she not know.

I pray they not put off,
too long and too late.
For God will soon call her,
up to that "Pearly Gate".

There she will be,
far beyond their reach.
How well I do know,
this lesson that I preach.

I did not show mine,
all the love that was there.
Now I look back in sorrow,
my heart and soul I bare.

So don't wait someone,
until she is no more.
Else you find yourself,
standing at the same door.

| Return to Poetry Index |
| Seniors-Site Homepage | E-Mail | Site Master |