Sing Me Songs

In my dreams as a child, with the stairs to the twilight. Feeling, the Sandman close my eyes, a shadow, at the window.  Whispering and echoing a sneeze from the catacombs of the cat's eyes. But mom was always there to whisper, "Simple Simon met a pieman." Then kissed me goodnight. As the Chimney Sweep played in soot at my foot, and webs felt like home. Boris and Natasha sang me a song.    
     
It was never the same when my dreams became a reality.  The twilight spoonfeeds me ghosts as I pulled the sheet over my head. Mom was no longer there. Just a thimble and chair. And her old sweater. But Boris and Natasha still sing me songs, in my world, a little bit crazy.    
 
Graduating from pinafores to blue denim. Nothing has been the same since frozen pizza and cell phones. Where has the chrome on automobiles gone? All gone to plastic as the world goes spastic.