Messy Mama Makes

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Goodnight poems to soothe broken hearts

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There have been tears tonight. We’re staying in our old house for possibly the last time – we’ve “camped” here many weekends over the past year and a half as we’ve fixed the place up ready to either sell it or let it out, and the time has come to say goodbye. Later on this week we’ll pack up our things from here for the last time and head back to Manchester. I’m sure it isn’t to be our last time in Sussex – that’s akin to saying it’s the last time we’ll ever see family again! but it’s likely to be our last time in this house.

My Bean (he’s 6) doesn’t want to move house. When he thinks about moving house he feels like he’s melting, falling apart, being trodden on, and squashed. He said it’s so nice being here again, it’s like we’re living here again.

It’s like tearing open a wound you thought was healing.

When we first moved up to Manchester 17 months ago it took several months for Bean and I to stop crying. We were heartbroken. I guess that even though we stopped crying and learnt to dance in the rain the heartbreak never really healed.

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So we have wept together again tonight. And then he asked for poems. I found these old ones that I’ve read to him before.

I love my boys. They hold and hug me when I weep; just as I hold and hug them when they fall apart.

The Sandman
Margaret Thomson Janvier

The rosy clouds float overhead,
The sun is going down;
And now the sandman’s gentle tread
Comes stealing through the town.
“White sand, white sand,” he softly cries,
And as he shakes his hand,
Straightway there lies on babies’ eyes
His gift of shining sand.
Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown,
As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town.

From sunny beaches far away –
Yes, in another land –
He gathers up at break of day
His stone of shining sand.
No tempests beat that shore remote,
No ships may sail that way;
His little boat alone may float
Within that lovely bay.
Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown,
As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town.

He smiles to see the eyelids close
Above the happy eyes;
And every child right well he knows, –
Oh, he is very wise!
But if, as he goes through the land,
A tired baby cries,
His other hand takes dull gray sand
To close the wakeful eyes.
Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown,
As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town.

So when you hear the sandman’s song
Sound through the twilight sweet,
Be sure you do not keep him long
A-waiting in the street.
Lie softly down, dear little head,
Rest quiet, busy hands,
Till, by your bed his good-night said,
He strews the shining sands.
Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown,
As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town.

A Charm to Call Sleep
Henry Johnstone

Sleep, Sleep, come to me, Sleep,
Come to my blankets and come to my bed,
Come to my legs and my arms and my head,
Over me, under me, into me creep.

Sleep, Sleep, come to me, Sleep,
Blow on my face like a soft breath of air,
Lay your cool hand on my forehead and hair,
Carry me down through the dream-waters deep.

Sleep, Sleep, come to me, Sleep,
Tell me the secrets that you alone know,
Show me the wonders none other can show,
Open the box where your treasures you keep.

Sleep, Sleep, come to me, Sleep:
Softly I call you; as soft and as slow
Come to me, cuddle me, stay with me so,
Stay till the dawn is beginning to peep.

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This entry was posted on February 15, 2015 by in bean and bear, life, poetry and tagged , , .
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