111312282008
There's this place in my heart that's ancient and warm like a grandmother's touch.
To paint a picture of it would take a child's mind and a Picasso brush.
The red walls would hold closely to the dusty pictures of family members smiling.
The floor, wooden and torn, would speak as the brush danced across the canvas.
The window, just a single one, would let in a pool of sun
and the oven would bake some of the most amazing smells that even a poet would chew on her own words because they tasted so good.
There's this place in my heart that's ancient and warm like a grandmother's touch.
To paint a picture of it would take a child's mind and a Picasso brush.
The red walls would hold closely to the dusty pictures of family members smiling.
The floor, wooden and torn, would speak as the brush danced across the canvas.
The window, just a single one, would let in a pool of sun
and the oven would bake some of the most amazing smells that even a poet would chew on her own words because they tasted so good.