In the gentle folds of withered hands,
Lay stories woven with golden strands,
Of days gone by, of laughter and tears,
A tapestry spun through countless years.

Their eyes, twinkling like ancient stars,
Hold secrets of journeys traveled afar,
In every wrinkle a tale resides,
Of love and wisdom that time provides.

With voices soft as the evening breeze,
They sing lullabies to the rustling trees,
In their embrace, the world seems right,
A haven of warmth in the coldest night.

So let us cherish their gentle grace,
The echoes of time we cannot replace,
For in their presence our hearts find rest,
In the arms of those who love us best.