December 30, 2007
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YEARS AGOIt was many years since I was a lad,
And bedtime came,
No excuses to be had,
It was time, the same.Wintertime for me was grim,
My bed was made,
All neat and trim,
A brick hot from the oven was laid,
Between my covers.Though wrapped in a heavy towel,
'Twas too much heat in too small a space,
Thus it made me howl,
But to do it quietly I had the grace.The door would be closed and the windows opened,
And the beast of COLD,
As betokened,
Began it's stalk.I'd go deep,
Into the comforter,
Trying to keep,
In that comfort given by the ER.
A hole the size of my nose,
Was all that was open,
Through that hose,
Was all the icy air for copin'.
Weird dreams came to see,
Frigid me,
Of warm places they were and free,
Places where I'd want to be.
Comments (10)
Did you find them?
the places I mean!
Sleeping under thick blankets is the best part of winter... well that and the brilliance and ethereal wonder of a blanket of pure, fresh snowfall (which we haven't had yet this year) It makes the sleep seem deeper and the morning much more eye-opening.
I love this poem! I sleep under the comforter, every night, with just enough of a space to let me breathe! My hubby thinks it's weird! I love the warmth and security I feel under there!!!
I've never slept with a hot brick, though!
I love reading about your memories! And that they are in poem form is just icing on the cake!
Happy New Year to you and your family!!!
Hugs,
You got a comforter given to you by the ER? Or am I reading this wrong?
I love a cold bedroom, snuggled under nice warm covers. I used to share my bed with about 10 dolls.
I never had that many bad dreams.
May your dreams all be pleasant and do enjoy and relax this last day of this year.
HUGS.
Fran
I wish you and those you love a happy, healthy, prosperous, and love-filled New Year.
"A brick hot from the oven was laid,
Between my covers"
This recalls memories of my tender youth Doug .
have a happy New year ans so for your son
In friendship
michel
Happy New Years. Love to you, Judi
We never had a brick. Wool blankets had to do the job and flannel jammies.
This is quite the special poem. I really like it.