In whispers of the past, a comb of grace,
Grandmother's touch still lingers in its embrace.
A relic of time, weathered and worn,
An ode to simple joys, quietly born.
Each stroke, is a tale of love's tender art,
A legacy woven in each strand that parts.
Through years it danced, through laughter and tears,
A treasure of memories, cherished throughout the years.
In antique elegance, it proudly gleams, with gold and silver etched flowers.
A symbol of heritage more than it seems. We
Celebrate the ordinary, whispers the comb,
In life's tender tapestry, it finds its home.
About the Creator
Betty Livell
University of the Rockies, Master's Degree in Psychology
I love to read and perhaps writing
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