At Granny's
John Clare
Stokes
Pappa she kept tightly in the urn upon the mantle place
Great Granny's wooden leg propped open the bedroom breezeway
Nights I'd try and get to sleep quickly
Before granny came hobbling with lace over her face
Through the cracks and chinks the wind whispered
Who is that lying my the feathered bed
Do we wake for another now dead
Now it's just the wind I was assured.
Then from the Florida room a fiddle
Upon the cool hard pine floor a tapping
Someone in there an old beat keeping
Is that you, Mr Emory?
I dared not wake to peek in.
By morning rooster waking I asked
Granny did you enjoy last nights company
She smiled and dipped some snuff slowly
Went about the early days tasks humming
Seems we weren't in this place by ourselves
I eventually grew accustomed to pappa on the shelf
Great granny letting in the cool wind
Never invited but I even looked
Forward to the midnight fiddling to begin.
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