How often Momma would hear the words
On cold and stormy nights,
Or when we would tell ghost stories
And give ourselves a fright.
“Can I sleep with you?” we’d beg of her;
She’d pull back the covers and then
Welcome us with a hug so secure
We didn’t feel frightened again.
As I grew older, at times I would fret
And worry with problems and stress.
I’d crawl in her bed to draw comfort from her,
Knowing she’d make my burdens seem less.
When we would ask, she’d not turn us down;
She always had room in her bed.
One night lying there was a healing of sorts
By her love and the words that she said.
Momma stood wistfully there in my room
That stormy night my Daddy died.
“Can I sleep with you?” she pleaded with me,
And I flung back the covers wide.
Copyright © 1998 by moleta ruth mccarter. All rights reserved.
