I went back to the home I love,
with my grandmother in my heart so far above.
Her wonderful presence is now gone,
but it doesn’t fade the light she once shown.
I went back for glorious memories,
and to hear the wind whisper through the mossy oak trees.
The whispers were like her voice,
telling me not to cry but rejoice.
Knowing she is no longer there,
puts an empty feeling in the air.
It was once a place so joyful,
but now it is lonely and sorrowful.
I imagine the way this house used to be,
and how much it will always mean to me.
In that home I became so strong.
She embedded values in me teaching right from wrong.
Every day she cooked delicious meals in her own special way,
making our dinner together the best part of the day.
Sweet aromas of pear tarts filled the kitchen when it was hot,
and in the winter, spicy chili simmered in a pot.
Sweet treats were made every holiday,
and they filled the cold air with warmth in a spiritual way.
In that kitchen many laughs were shared,
and in the bay window the yellow of the sun glared.
Nights spent together in the living room were so dear,
because we talked of life and love with the glowing fireplace near.
She shared so much wisdom in this room.
Just like a flower, this knowledge made my mind bloom.
The fondest memories happened in outside in the yard.
There every summer we picked tomatoes by hand, and then they were jarred.
Those days would be long and hard,
and the sun would be pressing down on the yard.
Soon in a bucket straight from the field,
the ripe red tomatoes were quickly peeled.
Filling the jar to just the right spot,
we turned on the flame then gently placed them in the pot.
In the pasture the land was tilled,
and soon the space was completely filled.
Producing vegetables of all kinds
created colors and beauty that blinds.
The garden was special to my family,
and we packaged all of its rewards with pride and dignity.
Corn and peas were always preserved.
In the winter we had a fresh plentiful reserve.
Planting lush gardens in the spring,
made life so beautiful while sitting in the old oak swing.
There you could see all of the land,
and all of the things grandma and grandpa crafted by hand.
Hard wooden chairs were built to last;
these remind me of glorious days from my past.
Hand painted and made with passion,
the benches they made were perfectly old-fashioned.
In those places we used to sit,
and watch the world so brightly lit.
Birds sang songs so loud,
and often you couldn’t even find a cloud.
Only the bluest portrait with tall pines,
and on the ground, an emerald plain with wooden fence lines.
The amazing smell of a tea olive tree,
was always accompanied by a buzzing bumble bee.
Life filled this land and house abundantly,
but now that she is gone it seems so still to me.
I will never lose these precious memories,
and forever more her presence is in the gentle breeze.