Milk curdles in her jar,
mould forms on her black bread.
She’s come so very far,
but her blue Polish eyes
no longer see the flies
buzzing above her head.
She does not hear her friend
knocking at the door.
This is her journey’s end,
the faithful silly dear.
Christ does not shed a tear,
not for the meek and poor.
He looks down from the wall,
with both arms open, heart
sacred, eyes blind to all,
truly not of this world.
He does not see her curled-
up broken flesh depart,
the hour towards the skies.
He won’t feed her a lie,
nor redeem a bone.
He will leave her alone
in the kingdom where she lies.
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Comments about this poem (Babcia by Leo Yankevich )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(15 April 1958)
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