A Portrait of my Grandmother

My grandmother loved geraniums,
With work-worn hands
She'd pinch yellowed leaves 
From the green stems
And tend blooms with 
The same gentle cultivation
She allotted all living things.
A simple woman,
She wore nothing in frills
But the luminous jewels of her eyes
And a smile that became tender treasures,
Beautiful pendants, adorning her soul.
The laurel of her Love was an apron,
Worn over a mantle of quiet strength.
Running deep from her spirit,
Still waters resonated...
And now, even years after her passing,
I find my soul sated,
Still quenched by that stream

Sharon Frye