A Poem about my Grandmother

In the burning flames of the fireplace,

I see my grandma’s warm face,

And I yearn to feel her secure embrace.

I wistfully stare outside the window frame,

Gazing at the incessant rain,

And long to taste her thick, hot soup,

Oozing slowly through my veins.

I recall her telling me, beside my bed,

Stories of her childhood and the past,

And I retell them in my head.

Maybe in a distant life, or sometime near,

I’ll hear her voice again, so tender, so dear.

Once more she’ll hold me tight,

And I’ll no longer feel lonely in the night.