My Nan Wells was a lady, she did not smoke or drink She had no vacuum cleaner, nor any kitchen sink She bore a family of eight, five girls and three were boys But little Sandy Wells fell ill and as a child he died In times we were together, I never heard her swear She was a Christian woman, yes, and way beyond compare She drew her drinking water from a well along the road The only clothes her family wore were garments that she sewed Her Monday morning laundry was white as driven snow No room left on her clothes line? On the bushes it would go She cooked upon a wood stove and heated flat-irons there To press those things her family were always proud to wear The lamps that lit her home at night were fueled by kerosene Her homemade bread was feather light, she made the best baked beans She had a goat for milking and hens for eggs fresh-laid She ruled with discipline and love, was seldom disobeyed My Nan Wells had longevity, she lived to ninety-five My fervent hope is at that age, I am well and alive For reasons unbeknownst to me, she always called me "sis" She greeted me with smiles and hugs and left me with a kiss Nan Wells is never dead to me, I see her everywhere In my cousin's hazel eyes, my niece's long brown hair My uncle's slightly Irish speech, my auntie's ready smile Her traits passed on to every generation in a child There's a special place within my heart where she alone abides I gaze upon her photograph and I am filled with pride That part of her lives on in me, brings me special joy And I know we'll meet again someday "in the sweet by and by" Cynthia Helen Gullage   Submitted By: NULL