In the corner of the old wooden chair,
Sits a gentle soul with silver hair.
Her eyes, deep wells of endless tales,
Whisper stories where time never pales.

Her hands, though frail, weave magic still,
In the kitchen with love, her warmth does spill.
Her laughter, a melody soft and bright,
Guiding us through the darkest night.

With wisdom gathered through years untold,
She holds us close, a treasure of gold.
Her embrace, a refuge from the storm,
In her presence, we are always warm.

Oh, Grandma, keeper of love’s purest light,
In your heart, the world feels right.
A gentle soul who nurtures our dreams,
In every season, your love redeems.