Where Memories Keep Me Warm
My grandparents lived in a drafty old farmhouse,
yet, filled with a warmth, that came from the heart
and a hearth, where we hovered on cold winter nights.
Days were much sunnier, the breezes were brisk,
and the ritual of bedtime, meant taking a risk.
The bedrooms were poised on the back of the house
The heat could not travel the length or about
It took all of our courage when bedtime arrived
removing our layers, we must set aside.
An old fashioned bathroom, and orange Lifebouy soap
cradled in wire, in racks by the sink
A claw footed tub, swallowed one's pride,
with water as cold, as the frost-bite outside.
My bed was a cot, next to her sewing machine,
Under the clock in the frosty, back room
Grams would come in for a minute, or two
long after sundown, and bedtime was due
And although she was stiff, from old joints that would creak
She'd kneel down beside me so softly to speak
Holding my hand, and together, we'd pray
Thanking the Lord for the gifts of the day
A kiss on the forehead,...then off went the light
"Sleep tight, little one,...no worries tonight
I prayed to the Lord that no bedbugs will bite"
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