The Poet Grandmother

The Poet Grandmother

With a glint in her eye, mischief untamed,

A poet at heart, her soul never framed.

Her fingers grasp pencils, ideas take flight,

Spinning her magic in the hush of the night.

Wrinkles like rivers, each tells a tale,

Of laughter, of heartache, of winds that wail.

She carves out her world with rhythm and rhyme,

Defying the boundaries of logic and time.

Her smile, a secret, she’s plotting her art,

Each word from her pencil, a piece of her heart.

She scribbles with fervor, her passion aglow,

Unveiling the stories only she knows.

Oh, grandmother poet, your wit is so shy.

Your verses enchant, they’ll never run dry.

For in every line, your spirit remains,

A legacy blooming in ink-stained refrains.