In the garden where memories bloom,
Grandma’s laughter fills the room.
Her hands, so gentle, so wise,
Hold stories beneath the skies.

Every wrinkle tells a tale,
Of love, of loss, and the nightingale.
Whispers of the past in her smile,
Turning moments into miles.

Her eyes, a mirror of the past,
Reflecting days that went so fast.
With every stitch and every seam,
She weaves our lives into a dream.

Though time may take her far away,
Her spirit in our hearts will stay.
For Grandma’s love, so pure and true,
Lives on in everything we do.