These days it doesn’t just rain, its torrential! The city is flooding, the villages are flooding and well if you don’t take time to look at the other side of the coin, the situation is rather depressing. I wrote a poem a few years ago, reflecting what my children and I like to do when it rains. I think this is a good time to share it.
When it Rains
I love to sleep in when it rains,
My bed is so snug in a storm,
The splash of the rain,
On the window pane,
As I snuggle in bed it’s so warm.
The thunder so loud in the storm,
Flashes of lightening streaks,
Raindrops I hear,
All crystal clear,
Like a musical drama it speaks.
The sound of the storm slowly dies,
Nature’s orchestra comes to a close
The patter pat goes,
The wind still blows,
It’s time to get up I suppose.
© Christina Sempebwa 2004
Friday, September 21, 2007
Thursday, September 13, 2007
My cat and the rat
I sat with my cat,
and put on my hat.
I looked for Coach Pat,
to give me a bat.
He was chasing a rat.
It ran under the mat.
Oh it was fat!
The rat, not Coach Pat.
“Chase him dear cat,
the rat, not Coach Pat.
It’s under the mat,
where I had sat.”
“Come on” said Coach Pat
“Use your bat,
help chase the rat,
it’s under the mat!”
I looked at my bat,
and the mat now flat.
Where was the rat?
And where was my cat?
“They’ve gone” said Coach Pat,
“The rat and your cat.
Play ball with your bat.
I’ll watch from the mat.”
© Christina Sempebwa 2004
and put on my hat.
I looked for Coach Pat,
to give me a bat.
He was chasing a rat.
It ran under the mat.
Oh it was fat!
The rat, not Coach Pat.
“Chase him dear cat,
the rat, not Coach Pat.
It’s under the mat,
where I had sat.”
“Come on” said Coach Pat
“Use your bat,
help chase the rat,
it’s under the mat!”
I looked at my bat,
and the mat now flat.
Where was the rat?
And where was my cat?
“They’ve gone” said Coach Pat,
“The rat and your cat.
Play ball with your bat.
I’ll watch from the mat.”
© Christina Sempebwa 2004
Monday, August 27, 2007
A TALL TALE...
I met this incredible man at a workshop I attended recently. He told me a chilling story about how he escaped death, here in Uganda! It was like one of those thriller movies people like to watch. You know, when you can't breath properly and your heart is beating abnormally fast as you watch to see if the 'hero' will make it out of the impossible situation alive... I don't watch them anymore. The tension is just too much for me and I have nightmares with me in the middle of the chilling adventure!
Anyway, after hearing this man's story, I was inspired to write a short story for children with an adventurous edge and a hint of danger. So here we go, using my pen name Eky Ntulo...
A CLOSE CALL
By Eky Ntulo
It was my first time on a train I could hardly contain my excitement. I took a seat by the window and watched the bustle of people.
“Hi, I’m Jingo,” said a tall lanky boy standing next to me. “Is this your first time on the train?”
“I’m Benji,” I said staring back at him. He looked much older than me and I felt good talking to him. I sat up straight trying to look more than my 9 years. “Mother and I are going to Kasese.”
“Well, don’t you worry about anything,” Jingo said. “I will take care of you.”
Jingo sat down, pointing out the different people boarding the train. “That’s the conductor over there,” he said pointing towards a short man in a smart uniform. “There’s my mother, the one loading the big sack of goods.”
“Do you often travel by train?” I asked watching Jingo’s mother order some men to carry her big sack into the train. She was older than my mother and looked like she was used to taking charge of things. I could not imagine father beating her or Jingo for that matter. A lump grew in my throat and I quickly blinked away the tears. The reason why we were taking this trip in the first place loomed up before me. Father had gone too far this time. I could still feel the sting of the whip on my back. I had rushed in to save my mother and received some of the lashes. If the neigbours hadn’t come to our rescue, I swear he would have killed her.
“Are you alright?” Jingo asked. “You look a bit pale.”
I normally don’t pour my heart out to someone I had just met, but I guess the situation was a little bit overwhelming. Rubbing my short stubby hair, I told him what had happened. “We had to leave home,” I finished. “Mother has some relatives in the Rwenzori Mountains.”
“Well, looks like you are one tough cookie,” Jingo said patting my back. “Like I said, I will take care of you.”
Mother walked in to take her seat.
“Mother, this is my friend, Jingo,” I said. “He’s traveling with his mother too.”
“Nice to meet you, Jingo,” mother said sitting down. Since the beatings started, mother had become very frail and worn out.
“Mother, Jingo has offered to show me round the train. Please may I go?”
“I’ll take good care of him, ma’am,” Jingo said.
“Alright, but don’t be gone for too long,” mother seemed to be relaxing now that the train was moving.
We explored the entire train and when I went to check on mother, she was stretched out on the seat, fast asleep.
At around noon we stopped in the dinner carriage. The smell of food made my tummy rumble.
“Would you like a soda,” Jingo asked sitting down at one of the tables.
“I don’t have any money,” I answered.
“Not to worry,” Jingo gestured to a waiter. “That guy there owes me a couple of sodas.”
Wow, I thought. My admiration for Jingo was growing by the minute. A heavy set man with thick unruly hair joined us as we sipped our sodas. I could tell that he was a friend of Jingo’s from the way they greeted each other. He whispered something to Jingo.
“I’ll be right back, Benji,” Jingo stood up and left.
The heavy set man stared at me in an uncanny manner, making me feel nervous.
“So, my boy,” he said, his voice deep and hoarse. “Are you traveling alone?”
“Of course not,” I answered, wondering what sort of adult thought that a child as young as me would travel alone. “I’m with my mother.”
“Well, you had better say goodbye to her,” the hoarse voice took on a creepy tone. “You will not be seeing her again.”
“What do you mean?” I asked fear running down my spine like a cold icy finger.
“You will see, my boy, you will see,” his voice was distinctly evil. His eyes narrowed into a thin line and he tapped my cheek with a grubby finger and then left.
I sat glued to my seat. Where was Jingo? I thought. Was mother alright? Perhaps father had followed us to the train and was going to force us to go back home. The thought was too horrifying. I can’t just sit here and let him beat her up again, I thought. Spurred into action, I jumped up from my seat and hurried back to my carriage.
I was about to burst through the door, when I heard voices inside. I pushed the door ajar quietly and listened.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry to tell you that Benji has been taken ill,” Jingo was saying. “He is receiving treatment in the first aid booth.”
“Oh, poor Benji,” mother said. “I must go to him at once.”
“No, ma’am,” Jingo quickly interjected. “He is resting. I will take you to him later. He is really fine, probably just something he ate.”
I heard Jingo make as if to leave and hurried to the end of the corridor looking for somewhere to hide. I had to think quickly, so I just opened the door of the wagon and stepped down on to the steps. I closed the door behind me and hooked my arms to the railing. The wind was strong as the train whizzed along and I had to hang on for my dear life.
After a few minutes I returned to the carriage door. My heart was racing as I entered. Mother was sitting on the bench staring sightless in front of her.
“Mother,” I said kneeling down beside her. There is something very wrong going on,”
“Oh, Benji, you’re alright. I was just coming to see you.”
“Mother, I haven’t been sick,” I tried to explain. “I think Jingo and his friends are working for father.”
“What are you talking about, Benji? Your father doesn’t know where we are.”
Just then, the door of the carriage opened and Jingo’s mother walked in. My heart missed a beat. We are finished, I thought.
“Please, Maama Jingo,” I pleaded. “Please let us go.”
“What are you talking about?” the large woman said. “I am not Jingo’s mother.” She came up to mother and sat down beside her.
“I saw your son talking to that boy, Jingo,” she whispered. “He has some very bad friends. I just came to warn you.”
I stared at the woman in shock. Everything Jingo said to me was a lie. But why did he do that?
“There is a group odd looking men in the carriage next to mine,” the woman continued. “I overheard that boy, Jingo tell them that he had found the perfect subject for their needs.”
“He means me,” I said, breathing fast, my hands sweating. “They are planning to take me.”
“I just came to warn you,” the woman said getting up. “Don’t trust the conductor or the police. Don’t trust anyone!”
“You had better act quickly,” she said as she hurried off.
I feeling of panic started rising inside me. How can we hide from these people on a train?
“Benji, what was that woman talking about?” mother asked frowning.
“Mother, we have to hide,” I tried to explain. “Jingo has some people who want me.”
“Don’t worry, Benji, I cannot allow anyone to take you,” mother said standing up. “We shall alight at the next station and take the bus. This is your father’s work. I wonder how he knew we were on this train.”
“Mother, we have to hide now,” I said anxiously. “We can’t wait until the next station.”
“But there is no where to hide on the train,” mother spread her hands.
I took a deep breath then I remembered where I had hidden earlier. “Come on mother, hurry.”
We tiptoed out of the carriage to the door of the wagon.
“Stand on the steps and hold onto the railing, mother,” I said earnestly. “Hurry up someone is coming.”
Mother turned round and stepped out on to the lower step of the wagon. I followed her, closing the door behind me. Mother’s body shielded me from the wind and bushes. I could see how her back was suffering and could not stop myself from thinking about the many times I had seen father whip her. This was probably less painful. In that moment, I vowed that if we made it alive, I would always protect my mother and when I grow up, I will be a lawyer who makes sure that fathers stop beating mothers and children.
After what seemed like forever, the train slowed down and stopped. We jumped off quickly and holding hands, we disappeared into the nearby bushes. What a close call!
THE END
Anyway, after hearing this man's story, I was inspired to write a short story for children with an adventurous edge and a hint of danger. So here we go, using my pen name Eky Ntulo...
A CLOSE CALL
By Eky Ntulo
It was my first time on a train I could hardly contain my excitement. I took a seat by the window and watched the bustle of people.
“Hi, I’m Jingo,” said a tall lanky boy standing next to me. “Is this your first time on the train?”
“I’m Benji,” I said staring back at him. He looked much older than me and I felt good talking to him. I sat up straight trying to look more than my 9 years. “Mother and I are going to Kasese.”
“Well, don’t you worry about anything,” Jingo said. “I will take care of you.”
Jingo sat down, pointing out the different people boarding the train. “That’s the conductor over there,” he said pointing towards a short man in a smart uniform. “There’s my mother, the one loading the big sack of goods.”
“Do you often travel by train?” I asked watching Jingo’s mother order some men to carry her big sack into the train. She was older than my mother and looked like she was used to taking charge of things. I could not imagine father beating her or Jingo for that matter. A lump grew in my throat and I quickly blinked away the tears. The reason why we were taking this trip in the first place loomed up before me. Father had gone too far this time. I could still feel the sting of the whip on my back. I had rushed in to save my mother and received some of the lashes. If the neigbours hadn’t come to our rescue, I swear he would have killed her.
“Are you alright?” Jingo asked. “You look a bit pale.”
I normally don’t pour my heart out to someone I had just met, but I guess the situation was a little bit overwhelming. Rubbing my short stubby hair, I told him what had happened. “We had to leave home,” I finished. “Mother has some relatives in the Rwenzori Mountains.”
“Well, looks like you are one tough cookie,” Jingo said patting my back. “Like I said, I will take care of you.”
Mother walked in to take her seat.
“Mother, this is my friend, Jingo,” I said. “He’s traveling with his mother too.”
“Nice to meet you, Jingo,” mother said sitting down. Since the beatings started, mother had become very frail and worn out.
“Mother, Jingo has offered to show me round the train. Please may I go?”
“I’ll take good care of him, ma’am,” Jingo said.
“Alright, but don’t be gone for too long,” mother seemed to be relaxing now that the train was moving.
We explored the entire train and when I went to check on mother, she was stretched out on the seat, fast asleep.
At around noon we stopped in the dinner carriage. The smell of food made my tummy rumble.
“Would you like a soda,” Jingo asked sitting down at one of the tables.
“I don’t have any money,” I answered.
“Not to worry,” Jingo gestured to a waiter. “That guy there owes me a couple of sodas.”
Wow, I thought. My admiration for Jingo was growing by the minute. A heavy set man with thick unruly hair joined us as we sipped our sodas. I could tell that he was a friend of Jingo’s from the way they greeted each other. He whispered something to Jingo.
“I’ll be right back, Benji,” Jingo stood up and left.
The heavy set man stared at me in an uncanny manner, making me feel nervous.
“So, my boy,” he said, his voice deep and hoarse. “Are you traveling alone?”
“Of course not,” I answered, wondering what sort of adult thought that a child as young as me would travel alone. “I’m with my mother.”
“Well, you had better say goodbye to her,” the hoarse voice took on a creepy tone. “You will not be seeing her again.”
“What do you mean?” I asked fear running down my spine like a cold icy finger.
“You will see, my boy, you will see,” his voice was distinctly evil. His eyes narrowed into a thin line and he tapped my cheek with a grubby finger and then left.
I sat glued to my seat. Where was Jingo? I thought. Was mother alright? Perhaps father had followed us to the train and was going to force us to go back home. The thought was too horrifying. I can’t just sit here and let him beat her up again, I thought. Spurred into action, I jumped up from my seat and hurried back to my carriage.
I was about to burst through the door, when I heard voices inside. I pushed the door ajar quietly and listened.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry to tell you that Benji has been taken ill,” Jingo was saying. “He is receiving treatment in the first aid booth.”
“Oh, poor Benji,” mother said. “I must go to him at once.”
“No, ma’am,” Jingo quickly interjected. “He is resting. I will take you to him later. He is really fine, probably just something he ate.”
I heard Jingo make as if to leave and hurried to the end of the corridor looking for somewhere to hide. I had to think quickly, so I just opened the door of the wagon and stepped down on to the steps. I closed the door behind me and hooked my arms to the railing. The wind was strong as the train whizzed along and I had to hang on for my dear life.
After a few minutes I returned to the carriage door. My heart was racing as I entered. Mother was sitting on the bench staring sightless in front of her.
“Mother,” I said kneeling down beside her. There is something very wrong going on,”
“Oh, Benji, you’re alright. I was just coming to see you.”
“Mother, I haven’t been sick,” I tried to explain. “I think Jingo and his friends are working for father.”
“What are you talking about, Benji? Your father doesn’t know where we are.”
Just then, the door of the carriage opened and Jingo’s mother walked in. My heart missed a beat. We are finished, I thought.
“Please, Maama Jingo,” I pleaded. “Please let us go.”
“What are you talking about?” the large woman said. “I am not Jingo’s mother.” She came up to mother and sat down beside her.
“I saw your son talking to that boy, Jingo,” she whispered. “He has some very bad friends. I just came to warn you.”
I stared at the woman in shock. Everything Jingo said to me was a lie. But why did he do that?
“There is a group odd looking men in the carriage next to mine,” the woman continued. “I overheard that boy, Jingo tell them that he had found the perfect subject for their needs.”
“He means me,” I said, breathing fast, my hands sweating. “They are planning to take me.”
“I just came to warn you,” the woman said getting up. “Don’t trust the conductor or the police. Don’t trust anyone!”
“You had better act quickly,” she said as she hurried off.
I feeling of panic started rising inside me. How can we hide from these people on a train?
“Benji, what was that woman talking about?” mother asked frowning.
“Mother, we have to hide,” I tried to explain. “Jingo has some people who want me.”
“Don’t worry, Benji, I cannot allow anyone to take you,” mother said standing up. “We shall alight at the next station and take the bus. This is your father’s work. I wonder how he knew we were on this train.”
“Mother, we have to hide now,” I said anxiously. “We can’t wait until the next station.”
“But there is no where to hide on the train,” mother spread her hands.
I took a deep breath then I remembered where I had hidden earlier. “Come on mother, hurry.”
We tiptoed out of the carriage to the door of the wagon.
“Stand on the steps and hold onto the railing, mother,” I said earnestly. “Hurry up someone is coming.”
Mother turned round and stepped out on to the lower step of the wagon. I followed her, closing the door behind me. Mother’s body shielded me from the wind and bushes. I could see how her back was suffering and could not stop myself from thinking about the many times I had seen father whip her. This was probably less painful. In that moment, I vowed that if we made it alive, I would always protect my mother and when I grow up, I will be a lawyer who makes sure that fathers stop beating mothers and children.
After what seemed like forever, the train slowed down and stopped. We jumped off quickly and holding hands, we disappeared into the nearby bushes. What a close call!
THE END
Thursday, July 12, 2007
ASLEEP IN A TREE
You’ll never believe what happened to me
When I fell asleep in the old fig tree
Curled up in a hammock, high and free
A sailor, riding waves far out at sea
I had this dream, it was weird you see
I was in my boat and I wanted to wee
But there was no toilet unfortunately
In the small boat, big enough for me
All around there was sea, sea and sea
So I thought it would be fine to bend over and pee
I scanned the area and there was only me
Not a boat in sight only water around me
Perhaps everyone was inside having tea
But I couldn’t think of drinking at this time you see
So I bent over the boat ever so carefully
Now remember I was dreaming and up in a tree
At that precise moment I woke up you see
And found myself swinging in the old fig tree
The hammock was swaying precariously
And I fell to ground unceremoniously
There is no one about, I thought thankfully
So I rushed into the house, to the bathroom to wee
I returned feeling good, relieved and free
The pressure was gone and I was awake, you see
Well be ready my friend if you sleep in a tree
For a great new adventure that your dream may be
My advice to you is take it graciously
But don’t be surprised if it turns out unexpectedly
© 2007 Christina Sempebwa
When I fell asleep in the old fig tree
Curled up in a hammock, high and free
A sailor, riding waves far out at sea
I had this dream, it was weird you see
I was in my boat and I wanted to wee
But there was no toilet unfortunately
In the small boat, big enough for me
All around there was sea, sea and sea
So I thought it would be fine to bend over and pee
I scanned the area and there was only me
Not a boat in sight only water around me
Perhaps everyone was inside having tea
But I couldn’t think of drinking at this time you see
So I bent over the boat ever so carefully
Now remember I was dreaming and up in a tree
At that precise moment I woke up you see
And found myself swinging in the old fig tree
The hammock was swaying precariously
And I fell to ground unceremoniously
There is no one about, I thought thankfully
So I rushed into the house, to the bathroom to wee
I returned feeling good, relieved and free
The pressure was gone and I was awake, you see
Well be ready my friend if you sleep in a tree
For a great new adventure that your dream may be
My advice to you is take it graciously
But don’t be surprised if it turns out unexpectedly
© 2007 Christina Sempebwa
Monday, May 21, 2007
An African City Experience
“Mulindwa! Why do you look so sad?” Katuntunu sat down on the bench next to him. “I came all the way from the village to see you.”
“My friend, life is just too hard!” Mulindwa shook his head.
“In the village, you are known for all that money you send to your folks. Surely things cannot be that bad?” Katuntunu leaned back against the wall of the small shop owned by Mulindwa’s landlord in Makerere Kikoni.
“Everything was going so well for me,” Mulindwa stared at the ground between his bare feet. “I had worked so hard, for so long and I was almost there…”
“Eh! This sounds serious,” Katuntunu sat up straight and put a hand on Mulindwa’s shoulders. “What happened?”
Mulindwa turned and looked at his friend. His eyes clouded with tears. He blinked quickly turning to look at the ground again.
“It started like any other day,” he said quietly, almost as if he was speaking to himself. “If only I had known, I would have stayed at home.”
“What happened?” Katuntunu gently squeezed Mulindwa’s shoulder.
“I reached my work place before seven in the morning and began setting up for the day,” Mulindwa sat up and looked at his friend.
“You have an office?” Katuntunu’s eyes opened wide.
“My small telephone kiosk,” Mulindwa said impatiently, frowning. “I take everything home at the end of each day and set up again in the morning.”
“Of course,” Katuntunu nodded.
“I lost everything!”
“Eh!” Katuntunu frowned.
“I was displaying my phones and airtime cards, when I heard a commotion coming from the main road,” Mulindwa sat up straight. “It was University students demonstrating about something.”
“I thought your kiosk was on the lower road,” Katuntunu interjected.
“It is,” Mulindwa stood up then sat down again. “I watched from my kiosk and even sold an airtime card to one student.”
“Get to the part where you loose everything!”
“It was not long before the demonstration became rowdy! I tried to pack up and lock my kiosk, but the students were too fast for me. They took everything, even the little money I had made that morning!”
“Eh!” Katuntunu stood up. “Are you sure it was students? Maybe thieves were taking advantage of the demonstration.”
“My friend, I knew them,” Mulindwa jumped up, spreading his hands in despair. “They were students, moreover my best customers! They even looted the doughnut lady down the road. They took all her doughnuts, flour and even the charcoal!”
“Eh!” Katuntunu seemed at loss for words. “At least you escaped with your life!”
“They were in a hurry to loot someone else,” Mulindwa shook his head. “Luckily I have some savings in my room which I can use to start again. But I am very discouraged. What if they demonstrate again?”
“You keep your savings in your room?” Katuntunu stepped back. “I thought all you city folks use the bank.”
“I was going to open an account, but my neighbour advised me to wait. He promised to take me to the bank at the end of the month.”
“Is that the one who went to the village? Why did you show him your savings?”
“He is my friend.”
“Show me where you keep your savings,” Katuntunu said drawing Mulindwa to the rented rooms at the back of the shop.
Mulindwa reached under his bed, pulling out an old rusty tin.
“I have 300,000 shillings in here,” he said proudly.
They sat on the bed and Mulindwa popped open the tin. His eyes bulged and his jaw dropped. The tin was empty! THE END
“My friend, life is just too hard!” Mulindwa shook his head.
“In the village, you are known for all that money you send to your folks. Surely things cannot be that bad?” Katuntunu leaned back against the wall of the small shop owned by Mulindwa’s landlord in Makerere Kikoni.
“Everything was going so well for me,” Mulindwa stared at the ground between his bare feet. “I had worked so hard, for so long and I was almost there…”
“Eh! This sounds serious,” Katuntunu sat up straight and put a hand on Mulindwa’s shoulders. “What happened?”
Mulindwa turned and looked at his friend. His eyes clouded with tears. He blinked quickly turning to look at the ground again.
“It started like any other day,” he said quietly, almost as if he was speaking to himself. “If only I had known, I would have stayed at home.”
“What happened?” Katuntunu gently squeezed Mulindwa’s shoulder.
“I reached my work place before seven in the morning and began setting up for the day,” Mulindwa sat up and looked at his friend.
“You have an office?” Katuntunu’s eyes opened wide.
“My small telephone kiosk,” Mulindwa said impatiently, frowning. “I take everything home at the end of each day and set up again in the morning.”
“Of course,” Katuntunu nodded.
“I lost everything!”
“Eh!” Katuntunu frowned.
“I was displaying my phones and airtime cards, when I heard a commotion coming from the main road,” Mulindwa sat up straight. “It was University students demonstrating about something.”
“I thought your kiosk was on the lower road,” Katuntunu interjected.
“It is,” Mulindwa stood up then sat down again. “I watched from my kiosk and even sold an airtime card to one student.”
“Get to the part where you loose everything!”
“It was not long before the demonstration became rowdy! I tried to pack up and lock my kiosk, but the students were too fast for me. They took everything, even the little money I had made that morning!”
“Eh!” Katuntunu stood up. “Are you sure it was students? Maybe thieves were taking advantage of the demonstration.”
“My friend, I knew them,” Mulindwa jumped up, spreading his hands in despair. “They were students, moreover my best customers! They even looted the doughnut lady down the road. They took all her doughnuts, flour and even the charcoal!”
“Eh!” Katuntunu seemed at loss for words. “At least you escaped with your life!”
“They were in a hurry to loot someone else,” Mulindwa shook his head. “Luckily I have some savings in my room which I can use to start again. But I am very discouraged. What if they demonstrate again?”
“You keep your savings in your room?” Katuntunu stepped back. “I thought all you city folks use the bank.”
“I was going to open an account, but my neighbour advised me to wait. He promised to take me to the bank at the end of the month.”
“Is that the one who went to the village? Why did you show him your savings?”
“He is my friend.”
“Show me where you keep your savings,” Katuntunu said drawing Mulindwa to the rented rooms at the back of the shop.
Mulindwa reached under his bed, pulling out an old rusty tin.
“I have 300,000 shillings in here,” he said proudly.
They sat on the bed and Mulindwa popped open the tin. His eyes bulged and his jaw dropped. The tin was empty! THE END
Friday, March 02, 2007
Trudy Moody Gets Groovy
My name is Trudy
I’m sometimes moody
But not so today
I’m happy to say
I’m skipping along
Singing a song
I reach for the sky
I wish I could fly
Jumping up and down
In my dressing gown
Stars sparkling out bright
Fill my bedroom with light
Oh what a display
A stunning bouquet
What a beautiful sight
It brings such delight
On a day such as this
Filled with much bliss
I’m dying to say
IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!
© Christina Sempebwa 2007
I’m sometimes moody
But not so today
I’m happy to say
I’m skipping along
Singing a song
I reach for the sky
I wish I could fly
Jumping up and down
In my dressing gown
Stars sparkling out bright
Fill my bedroom with light
Oh what a display
A stunning bouquet
What a beautiful sight
It brings such delight
On a day such as this
Filled with much bliss
I’m dying to say
IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!
© Christina Sempebwa 2007
Friday, December 01, 2006
My bed is a special place
I am taking a break from 'Rags to Riches', but will return to it real soon. Since I am taking break, here is something I wrote for my daughter, trying to convince her that her bed is a very special place.
I LOVE MY BED
"It's time for bed,"
Mama says at nine.
My body responds to such a sign.
I love my bed so safe and sound,
such a warm gentle surround.
Mama tucks me in my cozy cocoon
and hums a soft, sweet lullaby tune.
I close my eyes; she dims the light,
and sends me off into the night.
I drift to sleep
in my sheltered place.
It is my castle, my special space.
And as I sleep, I dream some dreams,
they feel so real, so real it seems.
But I am safe in my peaceful sleep,
in my bed, my sanctuary deep.
When day break comes
with morning glow,
I feel rested, relaxed you know.
"Mama," I call and sit up and wait.
She helps me up, so I won't be late.
I leave my bed,
my soft, safe place,
and step into her warm embrace.
© 2004 by Christina Sempebwa
I LOVE MY BED
"It's time for bed,"
Mama says at nine.
My body responds to such a sign.
I love my bed so safe and sound,
such a warm gentle surround.
Mama tucks me in my cozy cocoon
and hums a soft, sweet lullaby tune.
I close my eyes; she dims the light,
and sends me off into the night.
I drift to sleep
in my sheltered place.
It is my castle, my special space.
And as I sleep, I dream some dreams,
they feel so real, so real it seems.
But I am safe in my peaceful sleep,
in my bed, my sanctuary deep.
When day break comes
with morning glow,
I feel rested, relaxed you know.
"Mama," I call and sit up and wait.
She helps me up, so I won't be late.
I leave my bed,
my soft, safe place,
and step into her warm embrace.
© 2004 by Christina Sempebwa
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