If she was a dog she would be frail and white,
If she was a sofa she would be rickety and used,
but still comfy,
If she was a time of day she would be the evening,
when the sun is setting,
If she was a phase of the moon,
she would be a toenail shape,
nearly running out,
If she was a kind of weather,
she would be light rain,
and deep clouds,
If she was a machine she would be old but reliable,
and wouldn’t stop,
Her grin is evergreen,
but ever fading,
Her footprints are small,
but never ending,
Her promises are locked away in her slow beating heart,
Her hands and wrinkled and withered,
but always working,
Her hair is grey and soft to the touch,
She the one, my granny!
By Aggie
