There’s a little white house at the end of the lane,

Tin roof humming when the cold wind came,

Every year we’d pile in, hearts full of cheer,

‘Cause Christmas felt closer the nearer we’d get here.

Front door creaks with an apple pie smell,

Cast iron singing like it knows her spell,

Hands worn soft by love and time,

Granny in that apron, Lord, she could outshine.

Granny could cook so well, it was plain to tell,

Kept the whole family smiling, yeah we were swell,

Around that table, stories to tell,

At Christmas in her house, everything felt well.

Biscuits like clouds, gravy smooth as gold,

Turkey slow-cooked with a story untold,

Kids on the floor, aunt playing the piano by fire,

Every bite tasted like a heart’s desire.

Granny could cook so well, heaven could tell,

Even angels leaned closer when the dinner bell fell,

Laughter rang louder than the church’s bell,

At Christmas in her house, yeah we were swell.

She’d say, “Eat up now, don’t be shy,”

With a wink and a laugh and a tear in her eye,

Food was her language, love was her way,

She fed our souls more than words could say.

Granny could cook so well, that family spell,

Bound us together tighter than stories we tell,

Even now when December starts ringing that bell,

Memories of her in her kitchen… and all is swell.

That little white house still lives in my mind,

With a table full of love that stands the test of time.

Oh how I miss you Granny Ruby

No dinner has passed that will ever be