I can still see grandma's apron
she wore most everyday.
At night time it was folded
and, on the foot of her bed it lay. She wore it to protect her dresses,
from all her daily chores.
While washing all the dishes
and scrubbing all the floors. The memory of all her aprons
are with us day to day.
With their many faded spots
Where she dried our tears away. Some are torn and tattered
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem