Grandma’s Golden Years

Seventy-nine years of stories in her hands

Sewing up

the fraying seams of our plans

She keeps the kettle boiling on the stove

A quiet kind of strength,

a steady love

Oh Grandma, you are the roots of our tree

Keeping us grounded, wild

and free (mmm)

Seventy-nine winters and still in full bloom

Your laughter is the sunshine in the room

She remembers when the county line was bare

With wildflowers dancing in the summer air

Now she watches all the grandkids start to grow

Passing down the only wisdom worth to know

And the years may slip like water through our fingers

But the warmth of your kitchen always lingers

(always lingers)

Oh Grandma, you are the roots of our tree

Keeping us grounded, wild and

free (yeah)

Seventy-nine winters and still in full bloom

Your laughter is the sunshine in the room

Seventy-nine years of grace (humm)