Classic Poem

By my bed, on a little, round table
The Grandmother placed a candle
She gave me three kisses telling me they were three dreams
And tucked me in just where I loved being tucked.
Then she went out of the room and the door was shut.
I lay still, waiting for my three dreams to talk
But they were silent.
Suddenly I remembered giving her three kisses back
Perhaps, by mistake, I had given my three little dreams.
I sat up in bed.
The room grew — big, O bigger far than a church.
The wardrobe, quite by itself, as big as a house
And the jug on the washstand smiled at me.
It was not a friendly smile.
I looked at the basket chair where my clothes lay folded
The chair gave a creak as though it were listening for something
Perhaps it was coming alive and going to dress in my clothes.
But the awful thing was the window
I could not think what was outside —
No tree to be seen, I was sure,
No nice little plant or friendly pebbly path.
Why did she pull down the blind every night?
It was better to know.
I crunched my teeth and crept out of bed
I peeped through a slit of the blind
There was nothing at all to be seen
But hundreds of friendly candles all over the sky
In remembrance of frightened children.
I went back to bed ...
The three dreams started singing a little song.