Comfort

Comfort was my mother's smile

and my father's laughter.

The aroma of dinner cooking

and the meal thereafter.

Comfort was youth...

the promise of a million more days.

Telling Betty Sue I loved her

and then counting the ways.

Comfort was the first day of Summer

and how it would never end.

The sweet smell of fresh-cut grass

on the warm summer wind.

Comfort was raindrops

pit-pit pattering.

And jumping in puddles...

The mud just a-spattering.

Comfort was eating ice cream

as it dripped down my arm.

And knowing I was as fast

as the horses on Papa's farm.

Comfort was wind on my face

riding my bike downhill.

Rollin' 'round on a fine Fall day.

Golden Leaves, October's Chill.

Comfort was my blanket

I had since I was five.

Tucked in on Christmas Eve

knowing Santa would arrive.

Comfort was Christmas morning

seeing that Santa did show up.

And going to sleep that night

hoping to never grow up.