Gramma's House

Gramma's House

by Phyllis Beebe

At Gramma's house
I could always do
Anything I wanted to
Or so I thought.

Cookies in her cookie jar
Tasted better, oh, by far.
And never "bought".

Stories that my Gramma told
Were never ever stale or old
To my listening ear.

Handmade quilt and feather tic
Ice cream freezer paddle to lick
Were treats so dear.

Hours chimed by a mantle clock
Tinkling tunes from a music box
Were endless bliss.

Bible stories and evening prayers
Before I climbed the "Golden Stairs"
Blessed by her kiss.