Between the Pages

Her loving hands are old and worn,
Her head now bowed and gray.
Her shoulders stooped, her eyes grown old,
Her smile not so gay

In her old chair she sits each day,
As life continues passing by.
She thinks of all that she once did,
And lets out a soft sigh.

She once had a great love of books,
She read them every day.
But now her eyes can’t do the work,
Though wish and hope she may.

So I’ve decided to become her eyes,
To share with her loved books.
And all I need in return,
Is her many loving looks.

Between the pages of the books,
Are stories she once knew.
And they begin to hold for me,
Memories, not a few.

The only sound is my own voice,
As I read from the page.
But I know we share a connection,
Despite difference in age.

Each week I go and read to her,
And learn from her a love.
Not only for the books we read,
But for her, given me from above.

Her loving hands may be old and worn,
Her head now bowed and gray,
Her eyes may have grown old now,
But when I’m there, our smiles are both gay

Source: Before I went to college, I would go and read to Grandma Bott. That opportunity left me with some very fond memories now that she has passed away, and this poem is kind of how I felt about those days of reading to her.