I remember the scrape of the woody chair
The pounding sound of the small woody mortar
I held their pain and joy within my plaster skin
The beautiful friendship with one's daily life
I saw the firewoods go out
The plates clinging and clapping for freedom
The pots screaming for cold
All in Grandma's house
Image generated using Gemini AI
Grandma is now frail and old
The mortar no longer suffer from her fragile hands
The pots sits lukewarmly on the rack
How time cease the memories once shared
Now, dust sunbeams traces where pictures hung
And silence settles where voices were once heard
Though empty now, and time had fade the then tradition
I still hold the warm of what came here before.
