The Machinist's Wife By Scott Eck I saw gramma crying quiet As she stooped unsteadily down To lay her rose upon the ground. She, too old not to know why it Was so, but she didn't imply it. An Auburn breeze rustled her gown. Her unsteady hand without a sound, Reached out toward the box and touched it. My mom told me who ripped up his Blueprints: grampa's blueprints. It was An angry lady, who did it. What did he do to deserve this: A gentle machinist? Because. He loved her, so he endured it. © 2002, Scott Eck