My Grandma
When grandma dons her purple hat and sometimes her red dress.
She
looks some nifty in it I really must confess
With roses and ribbons on it, and veils and lace galore.
I hope some day
that I can wear the hat my grandma wore.
There may be a number of ladies, twelve or fifteen at most.
Imagine
the expression on the faces of their hosts.
They come with poems and readings, and laughter at the peak.
I'd love to
kiss my grandma, if I could find her cheek.
Now they do have a mascot, a beautiful little doll.
They bring her
to their parties, she stands against the wall.
She's always dressed in purple, and wears a purple hat.
They're not in
second childhood, what makes you think of that?
The table that they dine at is fitted for a queen.
Doilies, silverware,
the best you've ever seen.
Scones and clotted cream and tiny sandwiches appear.
They enjoy it and they meet five or
six times a year.
I know one of these dear Grandmas, and when she hums a tune
Her grandson
says, "Dear Grandma who's song are you trying to ruin?"
She looks at him with a wrinkled smile upon her painted face.
"My
dear, I’m just humming our little song of Grace."
When she comes back from teatime, and doffs her purple hat.
She looks
so very satisfied, just like a Cheshire Cat.
I know she’s plotting something I can tell you that.
It’s about
the next party with her pretty Purple Hat.
-- Wilma Cook
