Apon a wrinkled neck, a pearl does weep.
On crippled fingers, a dull diamond dies.
Eyes that once, could tell a story,
Now stare out, for memories past.
With back, no longer straight,
And walk, but a shuffled gait,
Now in your twilight, no need to fight.
With steadying stick, snuggled in palm,
A friendly face, takes you're resting arm.
Pride and grace, now ensconced in place.
A grin and a smile, to light the dial.
A toast at sundown, to the toast of the town.
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I wrote this poem after my dear Grandmother passed away.