Ah, Grandma’s Kitchen.
I remember the smells
as if it were yesterday–
coffee percolating on the stove,
fresh-baked pies lining the counter,
bread rising on the sideboard.
A mecca of goodness…
just waiting to be shared.
Being a Mother is like a blossoming flower;
it starts slowly, growing hour by hour.
Though budding love for the newborn
is threatened by an occasional thorn,
as the years go by and the petals unfold,
the love of mothering grows to measures untold.