Beneath the oak where shadows play,
Grandpa sits with stories to say.
His voice, a gentle lullaby,
Weaves the past where memories lie.
In each wrinkle, a tale unfolds,
Of distant lands and hearts of gold.
The wisdom in his eyes so deep,
A treasure trove for us to keep.
The garden blooms with colors bright,
As Grandpa tends with hands so light.
His laughter echoes through the air,
A melody beyond compare.
In twilight’s glow, we gather near,
To cherish moments, hold them dear.
For in his presence, time stands still,
A legacy of love to fill.