Sixty Years

A poem about my grandmother.

Her hair was once rich brown
Her eyes once sparkling and alive
Now she sits, waiting for the end
Memories, in her mind
Of the young man she loved
Blond, carefree, the bluest of eyes
Sixty years have come and gone
She carried another man's name and children
But no matter how she lived her life
Buried loved ones
Made the meals, washed the dishes
Raised the kids, and the next generation
She knows he waits for her
The handsome face, the boyish grin
Teenage wedding
Teenage funeral
Sixty years pass
But the light in her eyes for him
Never does