The Living Photograph(form 4)
My small grandmother is tall there,
straight-back,white broderie anglaise shirt,
pleated skirt,flat shoes,grey bun,
a kind,old smile round her eyes.
Her big hand holds mine,
white hand in black hand.
Her sharp blue eyes look her own death in the eye.
It was true after all that look.
My tall grandmother became small.
Her back round and hunched.
Her soup forgo to boil.
She went to the awful place grandmothers go.
Somewhere unkonwn,unthinkable.
But there she is still,
in the photo with me at three,
the crinkled smile is still living ,breathing.
Jackie Kay
Please story synopsis about this
PLEASE(TOMOROW IS EXAM!!!)

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Jawapan

2015-05-17T22:35:50+08:00
This is a poem no synopsis.....

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