My Granny Often Said
Come on, little angels, lie on the bed,
Magical stories are waiting for you,
Books are precious, never leave them unread.
Gently she read tales of dreamland fairies,
Till we stepped in the world of fantasies.
Oh! all the fantasy stories she read,
Made us believe such places do exist,
Come on, little angels, lie on the bed.
Every single night, she made sure to share,
Tales of wonderland and paradise rare.
Whenever anger rises within you,
Channel your wrath by immersing in books,
Books are precious, never leave them unread.
Her wisdom, a guiding light and weapon,
Always stayed and taught us the right lesson.
With her imagination, joy she spread,
And mesmerized us by her narration,
Come on, little angels, lie on the bed.
Each time her comforting voice met our ears.
We often fell asleep in peace for years.
When we didn’t eat meals, she cleverly fed,
By enticing us with enthralling tales,
Books are precious, never leave them unread.
One day my dad whispered granny is dead,
and will not unfold anecdotes nor say,
Come on, little angels, lie on the bed,
Books are precious, never leave them unread.
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