Draft in the author’s style. This poem was written for Poet of Bedtime Hush to sit beside the author’s own readings, and is waiting for the author’s review. The commentary is a working draft too.
In the corner by the window in her old and creaking chair,
My grandmother would hum a tune that floated in the air.
No words were ever needed for the melody she made,
It was woven out of memories in a soft and golden shade.
It smelled of warm bread baking and of rosemary and rain,
And it carried every winter that she wintered through with pain.
Her hands would smooth my pillow as she stitched the hush of night,
And hum away my nightmares till the world was calm and bright.
I asked her what the song was, and she smiled with tired eyes,
It's the song my mother hummed to me beneath these very skies.
So the lullaby is travelling from hand to hand and heart,
And now I hum it softly when I feel the night depart.
Some gifts are not for holding, but for humming down the years,
A tune that keeps the family warm and dries the night's small tears.
Poet of Bedtime Hush · Hear it on the channel ↗
Commentary
This poem remembers a grandmother’s wordless lullaby. It shows how a tune can be handed down like a family heirloom, from one generation to the next.
In “her old and creaking chair” the grandmother hums “a tune that floated in the air.” It needs “no words,” for it was “woven out of memories,” and it smells “of warm bread baking and of rosemary and rain.” Her hands smooth “my pillow” as she hums “away my nightmares.”
Asked about the song, she smiles and says it is “the song my mother hummed to me.” The speaker now hums it too, because “the lullaby is travelling from hand to hand and heart.” The poem ends: “Some gifts are not for holding, but for humming down the years.”