With dress in hand, you sailed seas for love,
Far from home comforts to reach your betrothed.

From the south side of Mersey did you make the venture,
With book in hand to Kenya you did enter.

By the divine you wed on ground unknown,
Until you settled down and made it your home.

In other words, it became your Nyumbani,
For you both to thrive and to grow your party.

Three children welcomed on this earth,
My mother was the second by birth.

You were my Grandma; I miss you dear,
How I wish you could see me here.

Your name was Joan, the mother of mothers,
With love and kindness unlike any other.

Returned to English soil after the unrest,
To raise your kin and give them the best.

Known for your stitching and intricate crafts,
You helped us learn about vision and graft.

Struck by an ailment without a cure,
You still remained so positive and pure.

Although you were sick, you soldiered on through,
You kept your craft and helped us see true.

I saw grief in my mum’s eyes after the call,
Though I was young, I still can recall.

The pain was real, but my mum kept her poise,
To raise us well amongst all the noise.

From me to you, Grandma, a simple rhyme,
To help remember those moments in time.