Each little thread, woven with care,
As grandma sits on her rocking chair,
By the burning fireplace.

Woollen wisps of pink and blue,
Mix in tandem but without any clue,
As grandma watches the warm fireplace.

Grandma knits the sweater of love,
Would teach her grandchild the purity in doves,
As they both would sit by the fireplace.

Her child's blood will be her mark of pride,
Maybe her legacy would come to her for advice?
Infront of her favourite fireplace.

Reading tales and reciting rhymes,
They would sit on her chair, amdist the smell of thyme.
As the leaves burned slowly in the fireplace.

Identical eyes would look into each other,
A thread the same shade, she would weave in her sweater,
Warmth would always be found by the fireplace.

She wished child's protection, from all that is evil,
And if their hearts would ever become feeble,
They would receive comfort from the fireplace.

Child would grow up strong, she would make sure,
With a heart so noble, golden and pure,
Like the steel tried and tested in the fireplace.

She couldn't move around, her legs gave up,
And her grandchild would bring tea in her china cup,
And they both would be warm, by the pleasant fireplace.

Grandma kitted sweater, oh so carefully,
As every breath came deeper, and hands turned slowly,
She slowly fell alseep, infront of her favoured fireplace.

***
Do tell me your thoughts on this poem! :)