I stood on the old wooden chair,
my sweet old grandma, watching;
I can still smell the red apples,
and the pie dough we were rolling.
We carefully put the pie in the oven,
and sat at the kitchen table talking;
We drank tea and told stories,
in the living room grandpa was snoring.
Later, grandma in her rocking chair,
would soothe my head, gently stroking;
I still remember she hummed a tune,
and soon we would both be sleeping.
September 1, 2013
Written by Broken Wings (Constance La France)
For the contest, You're a Little Kid Again, Juli-Michelle
Age in poem - 5 years old