Gramma's House
by Phyllis
Beebe
At Gramma's house
I could
always do
Anything I wanted to
Or so I
thought.
Cookies in her cookie
jar
Tasted better, oh, by far.
And never
"bought"
Stories that my Gramma told
Were
never ever stale or old
To my listening
ear.
Handmade quilt and feather tic
Ice
cream freezer paddle to lick
Were treats so
dear.
Hours chimed by a mantle clock
Tinkling tunes from a music box
Were endless
bliss.
Bible stories and evening
prayers
Before I climbed the "Golden
Stairs"
Blessed by her kiss.