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Grandma Belongs
Born inside the mountain hue
where the rivers flow swift and the sky is blue
cheeks as rosy as leaves that leave
sweet, and slow, the flower grew.
And when sun sang, its feeble rays
she held in her eyes and stole the haze
to the fire warm and the sheep hair soft
she gifted away her childhood days.
***
Inside the city sleeps in pain
as grandma watches in disdain
Her roots away- so many a mile
what is but valued, oh what is but vain!
For at the Eastern hills she stares
and awaits the fragrance the wind brings here
though her skin is wrinkled, her hair now fair,
she still belongs to the mountain air,
unclaimable,
but to the mountain air.
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About grandma.