Grandma

She sits by the window every day,
Witnessing time, fading away.
Running a brush through her silver hair,
Watching the children, the future, with care.
Their eyes watch her with curious stares,
They see an old woman, wise in her years.
She sees youth, the beginning of time,
Wide eyed and trouble less, their hearts beating fine.
Her hands work steadily, on the knitting she holds,
Fine wrinkles adorn her skin so old.
But those hands they have felt, far more than imagined,
and the eyes that see youth, have also seen death.
She wants only to finish this life that shes living,
And settle herself down for the eternal rest.
But until that bittersweet, happy, sad, day,
She will sit by her window, for always, and pray.
Pray for her grandchildren, playing in the streets,
And for their children, whom she will never meet.
And for the future, which she will miss,
She prays for their lives to be happier than hers.
She sits by the window every day,
Witnessing time, fading away.