What to do with children?
It came so naturally.
I remembered Aunt Marion’s example.
Give them a place to run —
to breathe fresh air first —
and lead them to a place to swim.
Feed them fruit.
Show them how it is peeled and sweetened.
Love all children
as if they were your own.
Then, just before they go to sleep,
Give them music by the silvery moon.

Gramma died 25 years after she stopped mothering me.  But she left me something special, and I hear it whenever the need occurs.  A tune wafts in unexpectedly when I am kneading bread or hanging laundry on the line.  The opening phrase of an old  hymn bursts from my mouth:
     "Are ye able," I suddenly sing out.
     "To believe that Spirit triumphs," I can hear Gramma picking up the next line.  The verses poses a great question about faith, but I am thinking about what Gramma gave me.
     "Lillian," I answer, "thank you for my voice."