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"