Grandmother

So strange a thing is this we call remembrance,
Each time I gather clothes on ironing day,
All clean and stiff and sweet with starch and sun,
I grieve you may not dampen them, your way.
So strange a thing is this we call remembrance,
I am not startled, smelling sun-stiff clothes,
To see your silver spectacles and hear
You say to me, ‘Thee let me sprinkle those!’
WALDEEN H. WHITE