A CRICKET ON THE HEARTH
When I was just a tiny child, and all the world was fair.
My grandmother used to tell me tales about everywhere.
She had wandered far in many lands and always said
If there's cricket on the hearth, it's home and safe to go to bed.
But where ever she used to wander, where ever she used to roam,
She always said she listened hard to hear a cricket sing her home.
She then knew it was the place to be, to settle for a little while,
Till once again she had to roam, she'd shrug and give a little smile.
Somewhere a cricket is singing, singing in a place called home,
And I'll know it will be right for me even far across the foam.
She always seemed quite happy and never seemed to mind
What she did, or where she lived, she was always very kind.
Especially to Gods creatures who could not speak their pain,
Picking up an injured bird as we wandered down the lane,
She would feed a hungry dog or cat, defend any sick creature ,
And she'd say that night 'The cricket will sing, that's for sure'
When she was in her eighties and had not much longer to live,
She asked me to stay and hold her hand, a little support to give.
Her pale blue eyes sparkled as she said, 'Ann do you hear?'
'There is a cricket on the hearth, my new sweet home is very near.'
Ann Margetson
Feb 28 1998 ©