Posted on December 13th, by Chris Morgan in Poetry. No Comments

I wrote this as a frank and honest portrait of my Nan’s life 8 years before she died. She never really got over the sudden death of my grandpa when he was only 61. I wouldn’t wish this kind of loss on anyone. Life is sometimes very unfair.

She lives in the past, disgusted by the present day

She remembers, with fondness, a more genteel way

When people dressed for dinner and courtesy was the norm

There were no crude jokes and love was true and warm

She was devoted to her husband, said it was love at first sight

He played jazz piano, a real gentleman, he smoked a pipe 


They were involved with the theatre, amateut operatics

He the muscial director, she the actress, dramatic

Their social life was cricket clubs and dances

Parties and weddings, life was so romantic

They had a child, a girl, my mother

I never found out why they didn’t have another


They doted on her and brought her up well

They holidayed in Wales, life was swell

Their daughter married and had two sons

My brother and I were the spoiled ones

Kind and loving grandparents they were to us

Always giving us sweets and making a fuss


Then out of the blue when I was only seven

My grandpa’s heart stopped and he went to heaven

My Nan still mourns him though it was 21 years ago

She’s not been happy since and just refuses to grow

She shunned all her friends who tried to rally round

She closed in on herself, but solace could not be found


She moved with my family to a bigger house

But the tension that created was not so very nice

Three generations shouldn’t live under one roof

It just doesn’t work, I’ve seen the proof

She bought a chalet in herbeloved Wales

And spends most of the year there indignant and pale


Languishing in memories of a past that’s gone forever

She listens to no one and thinks everyone’s trying to be clever

She’s eighty two now and suffers with her knees

She fusses and forgets things, never seems to be at ease

She moans about people in general and hasn’t a good word to say

Unless someone reminds her of her husband in some subtle way

We love her and feel sorry for the life she’s chosen to lead

But there’s little we can do, after all, it’s her life, indeed.



Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *


Our featured items, including specially selected artwork, paintings, photography, poetry, events, recipes, blog posts or news.