The Fireplace At Grandma’s
© By Grady L. Duncan

Now that the weather is changing,
and the trees are becoming bare,
I fondly recall earlier years,
when “Northers” chilled the air.

With a fireplace in the Family Room,
and a wood cook-stove in the kitchen,
we all donned woolen underwear,
having to put up with the itching.

Wood was our only fuel source,
that was cut and stacked real high,
two ricks stacked on the back porch,
where they could be kept dry.

The rest was out in the weather,
to be gathers as was needed,
which somehow became my job,
no matter how much I pleaded.

The cook-stove took small wood,
which always had to be split.
It had to burn faster and hotter,
or grandma had a conniption fit.

The fireplace took the big wood
with a log placed in the back.
Other wood was on some andirons
which serviced as a supporting rack.

Since the kitchen and family room
had the only sources of heat,
we gather around the fireplace,
unless it was time to eat.

There we passed our time together,
reading or playing different games,
enjoying the heat from the fire,
and watching the dancing flames.

As the evening turned to night,
heavy eyed, we would sit an gaze,
as if we had been hypnotized,
by the enchantments of the blaze.

Grandma would turn down the bed,
knowing we would soon be there.
Then she would tuck us in,
after we had said our pray.

We’d sink down in the featherbed,
where there was no counting of sheep,
for we would no more get settled in,
before we were soon fast asleep.

Then the fire in the fireplace
would gradually burn down to coals.
The morning would come too soon,
for us sleepy eyed young souls.
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