Grannies Old Feather Hat
It stinks of dead birds and dust
Grannies Old Feather Hat
Granny’s old smell, like dust and thyme,
A mix of old books and a simple rhyme.
Her feathered hat, perched just right,
Whispering of days, soft as the night.
The scent of her kitchen, warm and sweet,
Her gentle hands, her patient feet.
In that hat, she’d smile so wide,
A quiet strength she wore with pride.
Now the hat rests, but her scent remains,
A comfort in the stillness, a link to her days.
About the Creator
George’s Girl 2026
I've been writing poetry since the age of 10. With pen in hand, I wander the realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture you ❤️#Marie381UkWrites
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More stories from George’s Girl 2026 and writers in Poets and other communities.
Earrings
April truly is the cruelest month, especially in Augusta during the first full week, breeding dogwoods and azaleas into dreams of a green jacket on Sunday. I won’t go into it about badges; suffice to say my family received. I was dating some loser the year I was twenty-two or -three, and I was taking him to the Par 3. At least I was until the night before.
By Harper Lewis4 days ago in Writers
Comments (1)
It feels like a tribute to her, and it's easy to imagine how those small details stay with us long after someone is gone, offering a quiet link to their memory. Lovely work! ✨