Tribute to Grandma

I grew up in a small town, with my mama by my side,
And grandma in the kitchen, where the smell would never hide.
The house was made of stone, with a little bakery,
Where she baked her love in cakes, for the whole community.


But one day, grandma flew away, into the sky so blue,
Left her apron on the chair, and the teapot for her brew.
Now the house feels cold and still, and the oven's fire is gone,
But her love lives in the stories and the recipes she shone.


Mama tried to keep it up, but the days felt twice as long,
The laughter turned to silence, and the joy to fading song.
We packed our things and walked away, beneath the setting sun,
And the echoes of that home still whisper when the day is done.


Yes, one day, grandma flew away, into the sky so blue,
Left her apron on the chair, and the teapot for her brew.
Now the house feels cold and still, and the oven's fire is gone,
But her love lives in the stories and the recipes she shone.


Sometimes I dream I’m back there, flour on my nose,
Her voice like morning sunshine, the scent of rising dough.
And though she's gone, I carry her, in every cake I make,
Her memory the secret, in every bite I bake.


So when I bake, I smile again, and feel her love so near,
She’s dancing in the sugar dust, her laughter ringing clear.
Though the house is far behind, and the stone is overgrown,
Her spirit lives within me — and I am never alone.