Granny's House

The sunlight filt'ring through her silver hair,

Her eyes, a warm and soft chocolate brown.

She smiles at me, her face so kind and fair,

With love and grace, she hugs me as her own.

The front yard's filled with flowers all in bloom,

Hydrangeas, lilies, roses, mums galore.

The wind is sweet and full of their perfume,

A cacophony of colors I adore.

Her kitchen's sunny, bright, and yellow-gold,

With cheerful flow'ry curtains o'er the sink.

A plate of fresh-baked cookies out she holds,

Along with crisp, cold apple juice to drink.

With snacks in hand, I run along to play,

Off to her sunroom, warm and made of glass.

I wish that I could stay in there all day,

But in a fleeting blink the hours pass.

Each year, the memory fades a little more;

No longer can I hear her lovely voice.

Her loving face continues still to blur,

But thoughts of her doth make my heart rejoice.

Though dim and shaky, still there is no doubt,

T'was always a good day at Granny's house.