Deep in me there’s this fear,
Never failing to bring me to tears,
What will I do if she isn’t here,
To see me as a doctor with my fellow peers,
Minute by minute, time is slowly,
Bit by bit, gaining on her youth silently,
She’s aged now yet still lively,
Having lived her life dutifully,
She has a whole past to reflect on,
That goes beyond the time I was born,
Often sad, most of the time forlorn,
Sometimes a bed of roses but never without thorns.
Born a lady with an iron will,
Earned a living with her limited skill,
Continues to build her family until,
One day, she bows to time, not to ill.
Fragile she may seem,
Yet she still beams,
Unlike what others deem,
That age has taken her steam.
Green roots show in her arms and legs,
Her forehead falls like a flightless stair,
A skin once smooth now ragged,
From life’s wear and tear.
If the time does come and thus my fear,
A man should shed blood but never tears,
But I am no man, I shall tear,
For I am a grandson who hold her dear.