Competition

Highly Commended

Grandma's Old Oak Bed
by Allan Goode

They say that my old Grandad was a handy bloke to know,
He'd fix your fence, or shear your sheep, or help you when you sow,
He used to work the timber yard, was great at millin' wood,
Would mill a tree within his head, like no-one else here could,

He always got the best results, so patterned grain showed through,
For not a man from miles around, could rival what he'd do,
So I guess it's not surprising that when we went visitin'
A lot of what we saw within was milled and made by him,

But out of all the furniture, he'd made in farm and shed,
The one thing I remember most, was Grandma's old oak bed,
It truly was remarkable, so big and bright and straight,
And obviously favoured over things he'd made of late,

The bed head was a slab of oak, as high as Grandma's head,
The edges he left natural, just stripped the bark instead,
The rails were straight and true as true, just like when Grandad spoke,
And every corner held a post of smoothly dressed up oak,

A frame upon the sturdy posts, to hold the canopy,
So high you thought you'd never reach, as high as any tree,
The bed end was another slab, but this one dressed and fine,
He'd even left a knot hole in, which Grandma thought divine,

The bed's broad base was oak as well, a frame of slats and rails,
All glued and joined like olden days, 'cause Grandad hated nails,
But of it all, what I recall, what I remember most,
Was how much room there seemed to be within those four oak posts,

We used to come out weekly for a visit to the farm,
And Grandad and my Grandma used to greet us, arm in arm,
We'd head inside, and play and hide and wind up on their bed,
And they'd come in with Mum and Dad, and jointly shake their heads,

My brothers and my sisters, used to lay across that bed,
And we'd try and reach from side to side, don't think we ever did,
The mattress had been special made, the local women's group,
And over years, they filled it up with down from local coops,

The good times that we share of then, of peaceful sleeping dreams,
Of when we filled that old oak bed, with happy laughing screams,
My father told a story, with no hospital in town,
How he and his three siblings were all born there on that down,

"It's a wonder that they found you?" I used to joke and say,
"Why just to get from side to side would take you half the day",
And dad would laugh and smile at that, 'cause back when he was young,
He used to make the same sick jokes when they were having fun,

Yes, Grandad was a special bloke, there's no disputing that,
I'm sure that he and Grandma shared some memories on those slats,
That bed holds many memories, for me and all our kin,
Those posts could tell a tale or two, of what went on within,

A bed like that you'd never buy, with no amount of cash,
You'd lay your head, and bathe in love, and drift off in a flash,
And soon enough you'd join the others dancing in your head,
Who dreamed their dreams and shared a laugh on Grandma's old oak bed.