Love Holds The Key

There’s a little felt hat hanging on the wall

A faded apron hanging behind the kitchen door

 Such cherished old memories so easy to recall

They are still hanging there like always before

He with his overalls, hair and beard of gray

She in her kitchen cooking on a woodstove

That tantalizing smell always made my day

Like cattle to market, they came in a drove

My heart still yearns for that little porch swing

In the warm, summer breeze, they could be found

Watching grandchildren grow, made their heart sing

That little house was a regular stomping ground

When the north wind blew making itself known

The old quilting frames were hanging down low

A masterpiece she made, each square was hand sown

Each stitch was in place lined up in a row

And the little work shed under the maple tree

I can see him there making handles for each tool

He took such pride in his work and artistry

Such a wise man, he never had much school

So much goings on, eyes were bright as the sun

Those cathead biscuits in the oven I still see

Oh how I miss his jokes and tricks, all in fun 

That crabapple sure didn’t taste like an apple to me

 Today the hat and apron are still hanging on the wall

The little porch swing squeaks, calling, calling to me

Although the house is quiet, my memories I still recall

To this granddaughter’s heart, love holds the key

                                                      ©Susie Swanson, 2013