Pushing off old quilts,
In my small, ancient brass bed,
I stretched, yawned, and woke,

A cabin window,
Opened wide to pine and sky.
Cool dawns, noisy birds.

Outside the window,
Strung between two sun-warmed trees,
My old swing still waits.

I watched moon rise, too.
Dreamy, silver light lacing
My little log room.

It was a good room,
Storing giggles and whispers,
Secrets, and daydreams.