Beyond the Counterpane

With the gentle sound of rainy days I do recall the games I played, while home from school, and when fevers brewed when I was sick, and clouds ensued to turn my stay in bed for days Hands soothed my brow, and beads of dew grew pearls of moisture, in rainbow hues The window dripped, and I was sick, but I didn't seem to mind a bit! Sometimes I still can see it all... the tiny dolls, and toys were strewn upon the bed, around the room where I was mending from the flu Dampness on a counterpane, thermometers and sounds of rain will take me there......back home again... The memory of childhood, lie beneath a quilt of prose stirs longing for that healing grace, that comes again upon the page... A mother's touch with vapor-rub Some toasted bread, a tender face A playground out beyond the dew.. The lonely swing, a misty view.. A shadow was my childhood friend, those afternoons of sick-bed games Imagination flew so high, a carpet ride to magic lands I could look beyond the counterpane Watch the sun come after rain A tattered book of childhood poems, still holds me by the hand ................................................. My first introduction to poetry...Robert Louis Stevenson's Childhood Garden of Verses "The Land Of Counterpane" (A sick-bed keepsake that kept me company) For the contest: "Prose vs Poetry" sponsored by Jerry T Curtis