By Velma Smith

My Grandma Rose was nice and plump
Her hair was long, straight and black
When she would tire of me
She would say, “Go sit on a tack”.

My Grandma Jones was quiet and petite
Her eyes were small, deep set and blue
When she would tire of me
She would say, “Go get a cookie or two”.

My Mama stood with back so straight
Her hair was curly and red
When she would tire of me
She would say, “Take a book and go to bed”.

My Papa had a wonderful memory
His eyes were blue and serene
He never would tire of me
But would say, “Go get apples, red and green”.

My Grandpa Jones was a small man
With a beard so white and thick
When he would lire of me
He would say, “I’m going fishing in the creek”.

My Grandpa Rose, I never knew
Except his big picture on the wall
He could never tire of me
For he never saw me at all.

My Uncle Jay was young and gay
I sure tormented him every day
When he got tired of me
He would say, “Skedaddle, Get out of my way”.