In a quaint abode with memories spun,
There lived a soul, Granny Loewke, the sun.
A whisper of years in the lines on her face,
A tapestry woven with love and grace.
Her hands, weathered, tell tales untold,
Of stories lived and treasures in the fold.
With a twinkle in her eye and a heart so pure,
Granny Loewke, an anchor that shall endure.
In her rocking chair, she'd gently sway,
Recalling the past in a nostalgic ballet.
A repository of wisdom, a font of delight,
Guiding us through the shadows of the night.
Her kitchen, a haven, a magical space,
Where aromas of comfort would sweetly embrace.
Baking secrets and recipes divine,
Passed down through generations in a cherished line.
With apron adorned like a badge of honor,
Granny Loewke, the culinary donor.
Her laughter, a melody, resonating still,
A symphony of joy, an elixir to fill.
In the garden, where blooms told their tales,
She'd wander, regaling with floral details.
Each blossom a chapter, each leaf a page,
A botanical saga, passed on with age.
Through seasons of sorrow and jubilant spring,
Granny Loewke's resilience would eternally sing.
Her gaze, a lighthouse in life's tempestuous sea,
Guiding us safely to where we ought to be.
Oh, Granny Loewke, like a timeless rhyme,
A beacon of love through the sands of time.
In the heart's album, your pictures we keep,
A legacy of warmth, forever in sleep.
