The Sleepover

She came to visit, her little bag

slung loosely over her shoulder.

Excited, her first night staying with them.

Just past two and first time from mum.

And told she’s getting much older.

She ate her tea, was bathed and pyjama’d

then played with her Nana a game.

While cuddling her Grandpa she watched some TV

then off to her bed she was sent with a kiss,

and a story, gentle and tame.

Her bed was under her grandparents’ window

in the sleep-out of the house.

With it open they’d hear her if she was disturbed.

Be able to help if her mum she did miss.

But they’d need to be quiet as mice.

“So we don’t wake her once she’s asleep,”

Grandma said to her squeeze.

“Do everything out here before you retire.

Change in the bathroom, and, once in the bedroom

for goodness sakes don’t sneeze.”

Grandpa’s sneezes shook windows and doors.

And they were quite renowned.

From here to Timbuktu and much further

his sneezes were heard by half of the world.

At least that’s what Grandma owned.

Now Grandpa, he snored too.  Most every night.

And though he quietly crept,

and even managed to not grunt and groan

as he crawled into bed with his aching bones.

He started as soon as he slept.

This night was one of the worse Grandma’d heard.

(And most sessions were more than mild.)

With his stentorian snoozing resounding and booming,

Gran fretted and worried that he’d wake the girl.

But not a sound came from the child.

She came to the table for breakfast next morn.

She seemed a little upset.

The tot didn’t look like she’d slept at all.

Her hair was all mussed and she yawned all the while.

And the eyes she kept rubbing were red.

Then opening them wide at her Nana she said,

“I’ve had such a terrible fright.

I wanted to call you but was scared it would hear,

so I just curled up small in case it came near.

Did you hear that lion roaring last night?”