“child separated from parents raised by a grandmother misses that grandmother after her death”

In the first tender light, I arrived, a seed  
Blown by rough winds from the loving trees—  
Parents distant as moons in another sky;  
Grandma’s arms became roots, soft sanctuary.

She stitched me a world from her kitchen’s warmth,  
Scarves for the winter, tea for the pain,  
Stories at dusk when the shadows grew long—  
Her songs like departure trains.

Windows rattled with distant cries—  
The ache of parents who couldn’t be near—  
Yet I grew like a wildflower, bold and unbound,  
Watered by Grandma’s gentler tears.

Her laugh was a bell in the tangle of days,  
Hands knitting hope, repairing dreams.  
She taught me the secret in buttered toast—  
That home is more than it seems.

And then she departed, as moonflowers must,  
Leaving behind the hush of dust,  
A chair that rocks almost by itself,  
A handprint on my heart’s old shelf.

I walk in the garden—her roses remain,  
Alive with the hush of her name in the rain.  
Sometimes at night, I hear her call—  
A lullaby drifting down the hall.

Old photos smile from the mantle’s shelf,  
Her shawl around my little shoulders still—  
I miss her with every sunrise glow,  
But in new kindness, I see her grow.

Her love is the thread in the life I mend,  
Grandma’s goodbye’s not the end—  
In every soft echo of all that I do,  
Her memory tucks me in, gentle and true.

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