Grandma’s Road (poem)

I thought I would share with you today an older piece from my notebooks. This was written as an ode to my childhood and family, inspired by visits to my grandmother’s house. At the time this was written I hadn’t been by the old house in a long time as it had been sold long ago. Driving down the road to see what it looked like after all that time, it struck me how everything had changed and inspired this piece. Hope you enjoy 


“Grandma’s Road”
This used to be Grandma’s road,

dirt and gravel, twisting country lane;

and as a child I’d get so excited

to see my Grandparent’s house again.

As we made round the final bend

you could see it looming there,

and the whole family always gathered

Sunday afternoons in God’s care.

As kids we’d play by the trickling creek,

collecting fossils and killing time,

and though we didn’t realize it then

those were the days sublime.

Sometimes my cousins and I’d go running

through the fields and wood,

we couldnt wait to get to grandma’s

’twas a different world than our neighborhood.

We’d sometimes go to the country store

to spend what little money we had,

on bubblegum, candy, and sodapop

much to the chagrin of Mom and Dad.

I remember a church on the corner

and the smell of honeysuckles so sweet,

If we didn’t go to grandma’s on Sunday

the week just didn’t seem complete.

Down Grandma’s road, there were just a few houses,

everyone knew their neighbor’s names,

there was no diversity or difference between us,

everyone treated everyone the same.

and the woods were our favorite playground

our sanctuary against the changing wind,

we knew all we had to do was go to Grandma’s

and everything would be alright again.

But now down this road it’s different,

everything has changed around there so much,

Grandma’s road is paved and divided,

no longer gray gravel and dust.

and where there were just a few houses

now there’s subdivisions rows,

though I used to know where the road ended

now I haven’t a clue where it goes.

Now the neighbors don’t know each other,

they barely ever say a word,

now there’s the sound of loud traffic

where it used to be the sound of bluebirds.

but to me no matter what the changes

in my memory where love is sowed

this will always be the most beautiful place

for this is Grandma’s road. 

© 2001 Paul D. Aronson.

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