Soft hands of delicate lace speak louder than any mouth upon youthful face,

Patient eyes set deep in skin provide purpose and reason to unquestionable sin.

A slow, paced, experienced stride leaves lost times, loved ones and warm hearts behind,

And a house that waits in misty cast upon grass that remembers the visitors past.

All would be nothing without body and bone for my grandmother’s love is my definition of home.

I wrote this poem for my granny, whose birthday it is today, as I sometimes find it hard to say in person how much I admire them. I also find it incredibly difficult to write a poem about a person I love. I don’t like to talk about people with loud metaphors and excessive hyperbole. This is why I tend to focus very closely on the specifics of a person or an idea as I believe that true beauty is in the detail and not the unnecessary decorations we tend to smother it in. By concealing our beliefs and our raw emotion in extravagant and idiomatic sentiments we reduce its meaning to a muted and detached string of words that merely say what others have already said. To make something truly personal we must dig deeper and focus more closely on where our passion and emotion truly lies.

I’m not now going to write a paragraph where I list the amazing things I love about my grandma as I’m really not into that cheesy kind of expression, and never have been. So instead I will let my poem stand as it is as I feel that the semantics behind it convey all the emotion I put into it and therefore to comment on it here would be to offend its very existence. Enjoy.


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