Her snow-white hair was piled up high
Yesterday’s dreams shone in her eyes.
As she made her memories flow
We sat enthralled, so keen to know
Of life when she was young
And onto every golden word we hung.
Why do children seek to hear
Of grandma’s wisdom down the years
When mother’s words though just as wise
They often fail to recognize?
Or so it seemed in childhood days
When grandma was a shining ray
Of information so profound
She held us, her audience, spellbound.
Grandmas are so young today
With lovely hair that’s seldom gray.
But, they still have a special place
In children’s quest for the knowledge race
