The bedtime shadows creep up the wall.
The house gets quiet, sleepy, and tall.
You climb in the covers and wiggles settle down.
As we leave behind the noisy old town.
I open the cover, you lean in close.
To hear about the things that matter the most.
Like dragons who drink their tea with a spoon,
And bears taking naps on a silver moon.
My voice turns to thunder, my voice turns to small,
I act out the characters, giant and tall!
You giggle at voices, you point at the ink,
And ask forty questions to hear what I think.
The pages keep turning, your eyelids grow heavy,
Your breathing turns slow, soft, and steady.
The story is over, the daylight is gone,
But the dream in your head will carry straight on.
Heather Congrove 