Grandma

The soft hum of music sways Drifting through the house. The sound of chords Are as tantalizing as the Odor coming from the kitchen. And there sitting on a bench Sunlight drifting through The window panes, She delicately presses keys To play her favorite song. The music stew is just starting to bubble, The waltz begins and you dance Bouncing to and fro Until the stew is almost done. A rush of sound is utmost intoxicating And then Supper is served.