Your voice
Is the soft, warm blanket
I sleep under in rainy days.

It is the nostalgic smell
Of the heater turning on for
The first time in the winter.  

It is the comforting lap of my parents
I would find solace in sitting on
When I was small.

It is a warm shower after
A snow flurry hurried me
in from the cold.

It is my safe place,
The rumbling of your sweet mountain voice
And the accent of the land from which you came.

Let me hear it only once more as I drift off to
S
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