I Remember...
A granddaughter speaks of her sweet memories. Forgive me if I've divided my verses incorrectly.I remember the sweet scent of my grandmother, ginger and honey, her long gray braid swaying in the breeze streams of curling white on a gleaming silver ribbon. I remember the tiny cabin out in the woods, a quaint wooden box in the shape of a home; picture-perfect, a spitting image of a fairytale house where every dream came true. I remember the smell of the woods and lemonade high in the air and the profile of singing bi...