Full circle of life

Moon beams on her silver hair
brought an unearthly shine,
I stared at her soft chignon;
Felt love, and longing to have the same.

I was young, my hair touched by the sun
I didn’t realise that was exquisite too.
My longing was for Grandma’s moon beams
as I basked in her twinkling smile.

We sat on the balcony overlooking the sea,
with cake, coffee and milk for me,
watching the magic sea
where the moon lit a white, silver street;

White like my Grandma’s hair, Both shimmering.

She listened with love and interest
to my worries and joys, about friends,
about what all meant.

She told me stories from a life well lived
about her Ivar, the love of her life.
So many fun anecdotes and tears in her eyes.

We went to stand in front of his big portrait
He was like no other man, she said.

Wonder if the day will come,
when my sun-kissed hair gets eclipsed
by the moon beams of silvery white.

© miriam ivarson