Mrs G.

I can still hear the Italian accent
And I can still smell the old wisewoman scent
Telling small children, their small noses runny
"Eat your lunch, honey!"

She had cropped golden honey-colored hair
Brown eyes gazing at us, never with a glare
She would startle us too, her fragile voice soft
Concerned for our welfare, if we even coughed

I saw her once at the grocery store
She did not buy many things, her bag held four
I felt bad, for this woman with a big heart
Had so few items, and such an empty cart

She loved everyone, and everyone loved her
This old little woman, her English a slur
"God bless you", she said as we left elementary school with glee
God bless you too, our beloved Mrs. G

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