A grandmother's gaze,  

Discerning yet soft, like dusk settling on the earth,  

A mood both perplexing and warm,  

Questions suspended in the air,  

Begging to be heard  

By youthful, open ears.  

Brown, green, blue eyes—  

All belonging to her,  

All resonating within her,  

Each holding stories untold,  

Whispers of time woven in her veins.  

 

Wisdom gathered through the years,  

A quiet accumulation of dusty data,  

Moments collected, like beads on a string,  

A sharp hawk's torch burning,  

Not with anger, but with clarity—  

A light that pierces the fog,  

Revealing the truths we refuse to see.  

 

In her silence, there's power,  

In her words, a thousand years echo,  

The weight of love and loss,  

Of joy and sorrow,  

All wrapped in the folds of her knowing smile.  

 

She doesn't need to speak—  

Her presence is enough,  

A quiet force that shapes the world,  

One glance, onetouch, one word at a time.