By Alma Durkin
It’s up at six and out at seven
For Nanna’s subway trip to heaven,
And as I knock upon the door,
Small feet come rushing ‘cross the floor,
The door is open, I’m inside,
And chubby arms are opened wide.
Sweet kisses fall upon my face,
No lover had such true embrace,
And you don’t see, at least not yet,
The lines of age and worries fret.
It’s Nana, Nanna, I love you,
And Nanna, tell a story too,
And Nanna, be bad wolf today,
And blow our cushion house away,
Nanna, give a piggyback,
We can’t hear your knees go crack.
Shadow fingers grow so tall,
Of Nanna’s fingers on the wall
And Incey Wincey climbs the spout
And, once again, the sun comes out.
My darlings, will you still recall,
The games we played when you were small?
If you forget, as well you may,
I hope my memory of this day,
Will be enough to warm my heart,
If later, we may drift apart.
A precious gift, that is all mine,
To treasure till the end of time.
