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Grandmother (Hepseba Richards)
Ancient hands, wet with oil,
cuddled his supine body
from nine months
to six years old.
With a genteel voice, contoured
to caress a newly begun mind,
she spoke immutable words
of comfort and direction.
Yet, scolded with a voice of thunder
when he stepped out of line.
At fifty six,
he can still hear her voices.
He inherited trenches
of inexhaustible love.
poem
by
Buxton Shippy
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