The following is one about my aged grandparents. They are long dead now and the poem certainly needs some work, but I had forgotten I had ever written about them. And, even though the poetry is pretty bad, it does bring back memoreis; both happy and sad.
Like flusters of scrunched-up tissue paper
My grandparents shuffle their way
Up the front path.
Where has their substance gone?
When did this hollowing occur?
They clutch each others’ arms
As if, unattached,
They might be blown away
By a breeze.
I remember Grandpa in earlier days
His wood-chopping, earth-hoeing days.
The great Mallee root carrier.
And Grandma ruled the roost
With iron will – and biceps;
Puddings to feed a dozen mouths;
A walk like a lioness.
To where did their strength disappear?
Who took it?
Who drained them?
Was it life?