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Katherine.T
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Sunday, October 26, 2008
Pots and pansAs my grandmother sat down to clean the room
She complained to me of my uncle’s rashness
He asked for all the old pots to be doomed
The pots who were his childhood companions
Each different pot and each different pan
Told a story which includes her laments
A large clay pot of golden brown
Told a tale of 8 hungry little crowns
The soot stain pan battered and worned
Told a tale of hardship won
These ancient potteries may seem foul
But each holds memories dear to her soul
My grandmother is sadden by his rash actions
I wonder if he knew what they all represent
It may not seem much for a reaction
But it is all she has left at present
Every dent and every stain
Reminds her of her wonderful youths
Where she raised 8 mischievous grains
Where she was always on the roof
I may be young and full of crap
But I understand her current emotional lap
For I too cherish the memories I had
With family or friends, good or bad
Don’t worry grandma, don’t be sad
You should be happy like a jolly good lad
Your sons are your greatest living legacy true
And I hope I’d be one in the future too