My grandma made preserves so sweet they sparkled on your tongue.
Her pickles were so tart and crisp they made my mouth feel young.
Tomatoes in brine vinegar she crafted with delight;
They lifted up a mundane meal upon a winter's night.
Nobody cans like Grandma canned – nobody has the time;
As if work in the kitchen now were such a hateful crime.
The patience for a stew or sauce she's taken to the grave;
"Home-cooking" is a fraud today – it comes from microwave.
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