Thread: Mathilda's Silver, Across the Years

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Grandmother smiles, a happy infant,
while Mother turns away, unable to look
upon the barren metal where
generations have worn the polish away.
Does she remember when these things were new,
the purchase of her comely matriarch
starting afresh on alien soil?

Immigrants to the land of plenty
so much was taken, but the blood
of Vikings coursed in their veins;
they stumbled but did not fall.

Standing proud now, on yet another foreign shore,
a humble service takes pride of place.
Across the years, Mathilda’s silver glistens.

This is beautiful and I loved the deeper meanings that stirred around in my mind when I read this. Well done.

Thank you. If there was such a thing as a time machine, I would travel back to meet all the women I could never live up to.

The subject matter of this piece was absolutely divine as was everything else about this well crafted poem. 2nd stanza--love it. Last line of last stanza--Oh so beautiful. This poem like the heirloom silver--hopefully will be handed down to new generations to cherish and enjoy...Peace...Jul

Firemajic, thank you for your overly kind comments. The silver is poor quality but cherished nonetheless by the current kvinna.