Thousand Year Poems, 1

My grandmother's mother was not a refugee.
She was poor, but earth-wise, wise of the water.
A fox came and sat by her warm hearth where she cooked and children played.
She would look up and say, look far, look well, o children.
She loved her earthen pots and pans and was very proud of her copper bowls.
When I was born, she put her head up close to me and said no regrets, ever, little sister.
She was just a poor old lady, with her friend the fox, sitting by the fire talking of birth pains and mice troubles.
When she died, the fox came by her cold hearth, and cried.