My grandmother, she came from Kyiv
Born there in times of strain and strife
Before the Wars.
Sustained by faith and table scraps,
When soldiers came felt she must leave.
And fled abroad to save her life.
Progenitors -
In search of freedom. And to build.
Perhaps.
Arrived with dreams and reprimands.
An empty suitcase in her hands.
The obstacles she overcame!
Things change.
Yet somehow they remain the same.
So, how was she with an AK-47?
Probably a little rusty.
Good poem.
My grandmother came from Odessa. She was eight when she was sent to relatives in Flatbush NY. Her parents did not survive the pogroms. I never knew her. She died in childbirth when my father was eleven.
There’s a poem there too, if you want.
There are a whole lot of them; all too many of which will go unwritten.
… To say “Key-ev” was her Pet Pyiv.
Sorry, I read the thread title and thought maybe you were starting a limerick.
It was meant to rhyme, but it’s not exact.
Tough lady, my grandmother.