The cold kitchen air pinches

as I sit here, drawn and tired.

His dream of dressed up people,

scared, he came to me for comfort.

Her thirst and urge to scratch prompts

early morning wake up calls for me.

When the day comes, i say,

draw those dressed up people,

crumple them, throw them away.

No more bad dreams.

Drink this, i say,

soothe your throat, smear the cream

and sleep once more.

Too awake to return to the warmth

of my cosy cotton covers,

i sit here, tea and dressing gown,

and wait for the day to begin.