The Traditional Refrigerator

In a village where time stood still,

A tale of wonder, simple and real.

With parents by my side, I roamed,

To Grandma's haven, we often homed.

A clay pot, nestled in a corner's embrace,

A rustic fridge, a cooling grace.

Molded with care, by skilled hands spun,

Fire-dried and set, when each day was done.

Through seasons harsh, under sun's fierce reign,

That humble pot defied the pain.

In its earthen arms, water turned cold,

A mystery of ages, a story to be told.

Grandma's watchful gaze, so tender and mild,

Guarding the treasure, that simple, fragile child.

Delicate it seemed, yet a strength held within,

A vessel of memories, where love had always been.

Three stones beneath, in harmony they lay,

A balanced trio, come what may.

No riches spent, no fortunes paid,

Nature's gift, a legacy made.

And in this tale of life's gentle art,

A lesson woven, from the very start.

In simplicity lies strength untold,

A grandma's wisdom, a story gold.