Grandchild, grandmother

The baby snuffled in her sleep;
sighed, then wriggled.
Wakeful, the grandmother
heaved her body from the chair,
wrinkled eyes creasing with worry
watching the soft eyelids

flutter. The child stirred again,
murmuring softly, tiny lips sucking.
The old woman soothed the girl
with song, breathing below her breath,
forgotten melodies revived
unbidden.

The baby smiled; sweet mouth
curved up, contented
in the warmth of the crib.
It was cold in the room; the
grandmother hugged herself
against the chill

as she reached for her shawl.
Carefully, she lifted the baby,
Snuggling her against her breast
wrapping her tightly.
Now both of them would be warm again.
Together.

A contradiction in terms

Why is it that, when we’re at school
There seems to be a change of rules?
If you’re a teacher, days are short;
If a child, and you are caught
Yawning, bored out of your skin
Time will never let you win.
The days are dull, the lessons long
The minutes just drag on and on.
“The bell already?” Teacher says
“I’m always short of time these days.”

But then the end of term arrives:
Christmas, the best time of our lives.
Art, singing carols, parties, fun,
No work – it’s great for everyone.
Laughter, shrieks and happiness
Mixed into one glorious mess.
Oh, how time flies: before we know
It’s Christmas: holly, mince pies, snow!
Meanwhile, the teachers, grey and old
Surviving countless hours untold
As days drag on and on and on
Until the final bell has gone.

Why is it that time changes rules
Depending on who we are at school?