My nose was cold, my cheeks were cold
But the rest of me was warm
When I woke on a winter morning
In my bedroom on the farm.
I’d snuggle deep in layers of quilts
I knew I’d hear Mom call,
“Time to get up, my sleepy heads”
From her bedroom down the hall
Dad was already up and dressed and ready for the day
He’d been tending to the furnace but it always had a way
Of being slow to warm the house
On those icy winter mornings
We’d think that all was going well, and then, without a warning
The silly thing would smoulder out
We’d dress with extra speed
And hurry to the kitchen stove to find the warmth we’d need
Now we wake up in tropic warmth. We’ve left the northern chill
But our memories of Prairie winters stay with us and always will.
— Edie Mowat, Brandon, Manitoba
