My grandpa’s brew of stories
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Depiya Thoudam
Winter has arrived bedecked in icy lace
Foggy and chilly morns, a placid embrace
By the fire, I and my Grandpa would sit
A ritual so true marking the day has begun
With a cup of hot steaming tea in our hands
The swirling aromas of the steaming brew
Amidst the cold and foggy winter’s grasp
Would be a wisp of delight, a tranquil hush
A whole world within where moments dwell
With every sip, warmth would gently sip in
Tea would unveil its quite might in no time
Then my Grandpa’s stories would begin to flow
Of his long gone past days, a treasure trove
Sometimes of how he survived the World War II
Many a time of how he met my Grandma
And what a wonderful woman she was
In between he would make the fire
He wouldn’t pause unless it’s for a sip of tea
Warmth, wisdom and stories would fill the air
As his stories would flow by the fire’s glow
Winter has arrived bedecked in icy lace
Foggy and chilly morns, a placid embrace
By the fire, I and my Grandpa would sit
A ritual so true marking the day has begun
With a cup of hot steaming tea in our hands
The swirling aromas of the steaming brew
Amidst the cold and foggy winter’s grasp
Would be a wisp of delight, a tranquil hush
A whole world within where moments dwell
With every sip, warmth would gently sip in
Tea would unveil its quite might in no time
Then my Grandpa’s stories would begin to flow
Of his long gone past days, a treasure trove
Sometimes of how he survived the World War II
Many a time of how he met my Grandma
And what a wonderful woman she was
In between he would make the fire
He wouldn’t pause unless it’s for a sip of tea
Warmth, wisdom and stories would fill the air
As his stories would flow by the fire’s glow