The Grandmother's Supper. ❤️

When cold winds bite and shadows creep,

Dawn stone-paved paths, the darkness near, And night extends its quiet deep. 🌙

It dances near the lamps' soft gleam, It stirs the leaves, a shadowed fear. 🍃

Her tales were woven, old and wise, Folktales whispered, with longing burned. 🧚‍♀️

Through the flames of memory, the taste still lingers. ❤️‍🔥