Last week the Hazlett's grandma, Betty Hazlett, died. Ivy wrote this beautiful poem about her:
to Grandma's withered hands.
They were wrinkled and shaky, and seemed so, so frail
but time helped me understand
that a life full of love takes a toll on one's hands
and wrinkles are merely the signs
of loving support, of change and of work
of lives touched and intertwined.
Those hands soothed a baby time and again,
they created soft blankets and things for a friend.
They were gifted with cooking good things to eat:
Slush, okra, grits, and other tasty treats.
We all loved Thanksgiving at Grandma's place
thought her hands played Shanghai with cunning grace.
She was proud and warm when applauding a child
but cool hands detected a temperature mild.
Those hands finished puzzles 1,000 pieces strong
and helped little fingers put things where they belong.
Now Grandma's hands no longer shake-
her failing body's gone
Now her hands hold those she's missed
for so very long.
Although her wrinkles are smoothed at last,
I know this is for sure:
No one will forget Grandma's hands
and her love that is so pure.
~Ivy Hazlett~
Rainbows sure are tasty!
