The Grandmother
by
Anne Myatt

She sits by the fire
On a cold winter night
Telling tall tales
by the flickering firelight.

Her hands nimbly knitting
Her Eyes weave their spell
Her words sending shivers
as shadows rise and swell

She tells of wolves in winter
Of children trapped in fear.
Of nights so long remember
and lonely sounds to hear.

Her words weave their visions
wide eyes in tiny heads
"Time to stop my little chickens
Nighty night, go to bed"