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
Added by Poetry Lover
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