I remember the little white package.
It was a rippled red ribbon so neatly tied.
Crossbow over the square gift.
Set on a table with white cotton tree skirt.
“It’s not much,” she would say.
“Oh, Grandma, anything you give is always too
We would smile as her trembling hands reached for the gift.
“Thank you Grandma,” as we opened the gift gingerly.
There in the little gift was a pair of sheer stockings.
“Grandma, how did you know, this is just what I needed.”
She would smile delightfully with light behind her blue eyes.
You see, the gift of love was one she could not wrap in paper.
The caring hands were never measured by a moment.
Her memory is not in just one generation, but many.
Her gift, I treasure, it was the gift of love left lingering.
Copyrighted: December 2016 CMM