sunday with nana
when I was a little girl she said
I sang in the children’s choir
and everybody loved us
we smiled and tried to imagine
how nana could ever have been
a little girl singing in church
like a magician she pulled psalms
out of her throat and lifted them
high into the glorious air
angels appeared playing flutes
and trumpets and approving the
perfection that was her voice
september two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 
perfect spiritual poem for a Sunday morning..Thanks for sharing
Thanks so much, Stevie. Happy tweeting, my friend. 😀
boy do I miss MY nana
unfortunately I never met either of my grandma’s although I have a pretty good idea what they were like – so glad this poem made you think of yours
Very beautiful, John…
thanks so much
This is beautiful on so many levels…
Thank you so much, Theresa. :’)