A dozen years ago, a boy was born
who made a grandmother of her and me.
Released from life, she’s now a loss to mourn,
and this is offered as an elegy.

We needed her. The grandpas aren’t close;
the steps have chilly personalities.
The loving ours, we co-supplied the dose
on which grandkids can thrive. From me the squeeze,
from her the cakes and kisses – we tag-teamed.
We rarely saw each other but we knew
our hearts were warm, our efforts what they seemed.

And nothing I can say of her’s more true
than this:
the woman loved and sought and tried
her best – her journey was a fruitful ride.