Grandma's Tales Poem by cheryl davis miller

Grandma was born in eighteen-ninty-eight
she remembered the Titanic well.
As children we loved it when she'd take time
the Titanic’s sad story to tell.

They said the Titanic could not be sunk
not by fate nor by even God’s hand.
She taught the error of depending on
any prideful vain boasting’s of man.

She was born to a poor mountain family
of Scottish and Indian descent.
through out her life she learned intimately
exactly what difficulties meant.

By eighteen she’d married her first husband
and had given to three babies life.
By nineteen she’d buried him and two babes
at twenty became my Grandpa’s wife.

Through the time of the early Depression
she was blessed to have five children more.
With faith in her Lord she weathered the storm
facing whatever life held in store.

She never acquired any luxuries
outside toilets served back in those days.
She hauled well water for all of her needs
to complain was not part of her ways.

In her sun-lit kitchen I still see her
cooking meals as she sang us her songs.
Teasing and laughing, and telling us tales
in our eyes she could never do wrong.

Near seventy-two she'd buried two men
also four of her eight children born.
When she left to go, to heaven's fair shores
the heart from our family was torn.

Grandma I have missed you these many years,
but I know I will see you again.
I will run in to your sunny kitchen
when we're gathered with all of our kin

3/09 c.d.m.