From Lullaby Land

My mother sang sweet songs to me
Of looking glasses and lilac trees
And things I didn't understand
Like hot-cross buns and some old pie man.

For hours and hours, it seems, she'd croon
As I'd lie down in the living room
Under a fan, on the cool floor,
A summer breeze blowing through the door.

At first I would not fall asleep,
But watched as shadows would slowly creep
Through the curtains of starched white lace
Casting their patterns on mother's face.

But as she gently rocked her chair,
Sundrops flowing through her dark brown hair,
She'd keep a watchful, loving eye
And I'd drift off on her lullaby

To lands where spoons danced with dishes
And children's dreams came true on wishes
And blackbirds, baked in pies, still sang
And cockleshells from small gardens sprang.

I'd visit there with kings and queens,
Fairies and horses with golden wings
Who'd sometimes take me flying high
Over the great land of Lullaby.

But when my mother's songs would end
And I would slowly drift back again,
I'd always have tucked in my hand
Lessons learned in that far-away land.

For things are never as they seem
Neither here nor in that land of dream
And there are times when I must try
Making it through on a lullaby.