Grandma's House
By John Trent
Her sweet, gentle fragrance opens the door
To ray’s of memories of my childhood’s past
Pleasant and warm is her frail embrace
As love radiates from her fading blue eyes
Keepsakes framed upon her life’s walls
Of a black and white world from so long ago
Familiar eyes, wrinkled with time,
Watch over their young from across the room
Faint echoes ring with childhood laughter
A wood box for candy remains low on the wall
With joyous moments stationary in time
Tasting sweet memories that linger on
Empty for years sits Grandpa’s chair
Sweet smells of cherry from his unused pipe
Sharing life’s legends, we sat in awe
He smiled as he finished, then we begged for more
Silk flowers arranged with their brilliance fading
Hiding dusty halos of yellowed porcelain angels
Each picture and nick knack with a story of its own
Long since told and cherished forever
So tiny, she sits on her favorite couch
Reliving every memory with each subtle glance
In quiet reverence, she retells each story
Smiling as she finishes, then I asked for more
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