The smell of tobacco

It is on this day, every year,
A muffled whisper i do hear.
From the woman who showed me life,
Who took away my pain and strife.

“Up you get” she will say,
“It’s time to celebrate my birthday”.
The smell of tobacco fills the room,
Memories of my nanna who went to soon.

A rollie in one hand and a vodka in the other,
Was a great friend, nanna and mother.
A womans life built from kindly deeds,
With a helping hand for others needs.

Down Glyncoch Social sharing the laughter,
sharing memories, love and lots of banter.
That little woman with stick in hand,
The one who made my life so grand.

I often visit to sit and talk to you,
At that special place known by so few.
Hoping to hear you talk back to me,
To tell me “everything will be fine,one day, you’ll see”.

I’m trying my best to hold back the tears,
Something I thought I’d manage over the years.
But here they come running down my face,
Over memories of a woman you can’t replace.

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