Slowly, slowly grew the pumpkin
Bitter blew the wind
Upon the air the tang of woodsmoke
On the trees the leaves had thinned
Bitter blew the wind
Longer, now, until the morning
Shorter, now, the days
The evenings passed with books and knitting
Warm before the crackling blaze
Shorter, now, the days
Piled high with quilts and blankets
Tucked into our beds
A lullaby from father's fiddle
Mother's kiss upon our heads
Tucked into our beds
Safe and snug within our cabin
Tucked into our beds
In gratitude to Laura Ingalls Wilder for a lifetime of happy reading, nostalgic dreaming, and comforting (if vicarious) memories.
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
No comments:
Post a Comment