Title: In Arm's Reach
by Stephanie from Shropshire | in writing, poetry
I'd like to call her a memory,
But how could she possibly be?
It's as though I feel I miss her,
Though we didn't get to meet.
She is a fantasy to me,
Like I made her up myself.
I know she existed, and where she was,
Though she's just a photo on a shelf.
Yet still I shed a tear or so,
Recalling stories of her life.
She was someone's mother, someones love,
And my great Grandfather's wife.
I'm not at all religious,
And I'm not one to preach,
But I know she's somewhere, watching me,
No further than arm's reach.
I was looking through an old cupboard when I found a a diary from sometime in the 1930's, filled with events up and down the country - my Mum then told me this was great grandmother's diary, and the dates were where she was playing piano that night. She died when my Grandad was seven, and the diary really moved me.
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