In the glow of Christmas light, she sits, Grandma at ninety, with laughter that flits, A wonderful cook and baker divine, Her kitchen's a haven, her table's a shrine. Her hands, once nimble, still pen heartfelt prose, Letters cherished like petals from a rose, The ink tells a story from childhood days, To adulthood paths, in her loving gaze. We play cards by the fire, her eyes are bright, A best friend in shadows, a beacon of light, Her sweet laugh is honey, tender and warm, Offering help, a shelter from the storm. Loving deeply, her legacy's clear, A compass of love we hold ever near, For in grandma's embrace, old stories unfold, An ageless treasure more precious than gold.