Grandma's Apple Pie

In Grandmother's kitchen, recollections sprout,

Where fruity dessert aromas occupy each room.

A cut of warmth, a sample of adoration,

Carefully assembled from her heart above.

With flour-tidied hands, she'd delicately sing,

Her recipe, something loved.

Every apple stripped with delicate consideration,

Layered with flavors, a flavor undertaking.

From plantation trees to baked good outside,

Every fixing a murmured trust.

Sugar sprinkled like morning dew,

Her culinary enchantment, dependable.

In brilliant tints, the pie would shine,

A magnum opus, a delicate show.

Heated flawlessly, a wonderful source of both blessing and pain,

Sent from Grandmother's hands above.

With each nibble, an excursion starts,

Through plantations sprouting, where satisfaction wins.

Recollections woven in each crease,

An immortal story, perpetually told.

So let us assemble, hearts full and valid,

Around Grandmother's pie, a common temperance.

For in each cut, a story lies,

Of adoration and warmth that won't ever bite the dust.