The Gift

At the end of the summer
As the leaves changed
To the colour of passion
Her grandfather took her on his knee.
He smelled of wood smoke and aftershave.
A wooden box was placed in her arms.
The raised lid unveiled
A small ivory dancer
Turning to an ancient song
Brought to life
By a tiny key:
Her lace dress browned
And her face worn.
She was magic.
A connection to a distant past.
Her great-grandmother ‘s
She was told.
He was sick.
And this parting gift;
An anchor
To hold the bond between them
In the years between now and the rest of time.
A song to fill the empty space.


Posted on October 7, 2014, in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.

  1. Well written. Keep posting ; )

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