Up and up the winding road Logan’-s Ferry Hill Close your eyes and pretend I can take you there, even still.
Imagine men of old Determined and full of will Mining coal and farming On my Grammy’s hill.
Up and up the wilder wild Houses nestled deep Overgrown with bough and bush, Long ago voices creep
Chick-a-dees and woodpeckers Flit from limb of tree Crickets buzz, and foghorns sound Below is the Allegheny.
The scent of coal stoves hover, Calling me closer still Flagstones trace a familiar path The air is moist with chill.
Open up the slamming door Her wooden porch invites Screened to keep intruders out Memories of delight.
Smell the earth around us Loving simple room. Moss and grasses wild Carefully chosen blooms.
Frosted cinnamon toast and butter Rich cocoa in a mug A library of curious books Give my soul a tug.
Then it is alone time Once upon a summer night Just Grammy and I on her glider Together under starry light
The coolness doesn’t dissuade us Nor lack of light to see We cozy up with blankets and books Just my Grammy and me
She tells me tales of make-believe Recites her childhood rhymes Verses from the Bible flow Since those are deep inside.
From the mountains come her strength I’m sure~ and in the morning things look joyful She lives the words the Lord has said And shares them firm and careful.
We read short tales from Chatterbox, And when that’s to an end She saves more time for poetry And all her old-time friends.
Dickenson, and Byron, Frost, and Oscar Wilde The glider rocks with rhythm As she enlightens her child.
Some say that it is a sad thing When rituals cease to be But for me it’s still alive Grammy’s glider when she reads to me.
