Mrs Munro

A woman from 1914,
Grafted her soul out since she was 15,
Worked in a mill, helped her family,
Tried to open a sweet shop,
Until the war destroyed it,
Running with her first son as the bombs dropped
Losing another to tuberculosis,
Her husband was psychologically damaged by the evil he witnessed 
On the front lines 
Through all of those tragedies she remained kind,
Even when her sibling committed suicide,
She never allowed it to sour who she was on the inside
My grandmother was and is a real hero, 
A Christian who never used her beliefs to judge others 
Just a woman from Glasgow,
Who raised a family through epidemics and wars,
The kind of human being who would help you,
Even if she was short on money,
She also wrote poetry,
Using verses from the Bible that she cherished,
She relinquished her dreams 
Instead, she chose to raise her family 
As far as I am concerned, she was an angel,
Too good for this world, and its insanity, 
In these words,
I hope to honor her memory, 
To let her know how much I love her, 
She is my grandmother,
But most people called her,
Mrs Munro.