In the quiet morning glow she sits,
Her eyes a well of stories untold,
Hands weaving tales with gentle grace,
In her arms, warmth against the cold.
Her laughter echoes through the years,
A melody of love and light,
Guiding us through joy and tears,
A beacon in the darkest night.
Her wisdom like the ancient trees,
Rooted deep in fertile soil,
Teaching us the strength of peace,
Through life’s endless toil.
Oh, grandmother, with your timeless gaze,
In your embrace, we find our place,
Your spirit lives in every phase,
A legacy of gentle grace.