Night friends are poems lying awake
Keeping me company, keeping me safe
Sharing my bed with those who sleep
My love at my side, kitty at my feet
Quiet slumber, I dare not make a peep

Grandma wrote poems, of this I am told
I even read them not long ago
What would she think of my poems, I wonder
I wish I had met her when I was younger
It would have been nice to hear her cheering thunder

A poem ending is like saying good-bye
To a good friend visiting and then you cry
Returning to your life like before they arrived
But with communion of the Saints they are never really gone
Writing poetry with grandma all night long