At Grandma’s house, The wind flows through, and brings in the zest of autumn.
Its feel brings a new chance for love and romance, Making sun fused curtains sweetly move.
I see hues of warmth displayed on the snug carpet, From swaying oaks waiting in the heat of day,
that makes me regard the undying attraction of death and gentle decay.
My weary eyes aren't able to hold, and I drift off bare and chilled,
But grandma knows and covers me tight,
In quilts heavy and light,
Light afresh with toasty spices And crispy bluest firmaments.
Autumn, she is renewed.
Only grandma’s house can steal my breath.
If a word describes this soothe, sublime.