A pillar standing tall,
neat trimmed fence full of breath,
In the middle my granny's hut,

A door so low you had to stoop,
Inside a haven so tranguil,
Grandad swivveling back n forth,
by the door on his cat's cradle,
as he would say,

Nanny poking the yellow coals,
as we laid down our stumps,
to the warmth by the fireside
Granny on her feet raisin,
her height to dip hand to something,
strung so high,a traditional freezer,

Tales began as we sat on the goatskin,
Grandad often filling our woodcups,
with sweet sour milk,direct from under his bed..
The laughter n the joy....
I wish you hadn't been called so soon.