Uncle Bob's Words

Words, poetry, stuff like that

Good Night

I remember my mother standing at the window, looking out

At the trees waving in a cold wind and a light flaking of snow.

“A good night to sleep,” she’d say.  And, sure, it was.

Under blankets. Safe and warm. Even now,

Every once in a while, when in winter’s grip, I think,

“A good night to sleep.”  It’s that sleep grows fragile

As I age and ache and really need to get up to pee.

Even then, sliding into the residual warmth again,

I sleep a good night.  Good night.

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