Every Yule season when I was a treasure-seeking boy
instead of make-believe pleasure from yet another toy,
my brothers and I received books, shirts, socks or shoes--
horror of horrors!--one and all things we could use.
By the family dinner table we sat to chat each night;
unlike wolves at her side Grandma enjoyed every bite.
At eighty, she still cooked on an original cast-iron stove
and when chilly wore sweaters crafty fingers yarn-wove.
Mornings, she walked to the corner store for milk and bread;
afternoons rocked away nodding to what her radio said.
Grandma was simply Grandma, warming our once-a-winter stays
by summer-smile blue eyes schooling young hearts in fun yesterdays.
Regarding children, family, and the home.
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