A Poem about my Grandmother
In the burning flames of the fireplace,
I see my grandma’s warm face,
And I yearn to feel her secure embrace.
I wistfully stare outside the window frame,
Gazing at the incessant rain,
And long to taste her thick, hot soup,
Oozing slowly through my veins.
I recall her telling me, beside my bed,
Stories of her childhood and the past,
And I retell them in my head.
Maybe in a distant life, or sometime near,
I’ll hear her voice again, so tender, so dear.
Once more she’ll hold me tight,
And I’ll no longer feel lonely in the night.