ANNIE OUR OWN IRISH ROSE by Gaylia Kenslow – Stogsdill

Our Annie, who has grown tired and old –

And whose hair has tuned to gray –

Was once a lovely, young, Irish lass –

She was laughing, young, carefree and gay.

Those lines that crease her face and brow –

The crinkles around her eyes –

Speak much for the way she’s lived her life –

Just stop and realize! The fortunes she sought, when she came here –

That “money” that “grew on trees” –

Was always a little beyond her reach –

Then was gone with the autumn’s breeze.

But I’m sure if grandma could tell you –

She’d say, with a twinkling eye –

“While I never found fame or fortune –

I learned how to laugh and to cry.

And let me tell you children –

The joys in life are dear –

And happiness won’t mean so much –

If you’ve never shed a tear.

To live life to it’s fullest –

You must have some cloudy days –

Then, when the sun is shining –

You’ll appreciate its rays.

That wealth that never came my way –

I do not mind at all –

For wealth is not in money –

It’s in blessings, great and small.

And God has truly blessed me –

With a long and fruitful life –

And a faith that has sustained me –

To live the way that’s right”.

She’ll always mean a lot to us –

‘Tis because of her, don’t you suppose –

That we are, partly, who and what we are –

Because of grandma – are own Irish Rose.

Gaylia Kenslow – Stogsdill

Written for Anna Kennedy Zimmerman, Gail’s Grandmother In-law.

Copyright Roy Richard

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