"The Story Teller" by Will D. Kidd

She lay with her head on grandpa's breast
In the easy chair that provided rest
And a setting, too, for the tales he told
To the light of his life - the four-year old.
She knew the charm of his cozy nook
When he read to her from a story book,
And the thrill, whatever her mood or whim,
When he rocked and cuddled her close to him
And so she had gone once more to hear
Of the odd little folk who would gather near
And scamper about, as the fairies will,
And talk with her - if she kept real still.
On his lap she listened, quite content,
Till after a time both heads were bent,
And the story lagged, and his voice was low,
And he rocked no longer to and fro.
They slept; and hers was the sleep of those
Who wake refreshed from a sweet repose,
And turning then to the rising sun
Essay life's mission of work well done.
And the grandpa slept, as she nestled there
Against his breast in the easy chair;
But his was the sleep of the sinking sands,
Of the journey's end - of the folded hands -
Of the broken chain, and the shadows gray -
With a little girl lighting him on his way.


Best wishes
Peg