My mother's bed

Some times my night are restless
Devoid of sleep or ease.
The quietness that others have, would not come if I said please.
I toss and turn all night throwing covers in all directions and my pillows drenched and wrinkled and my dreams have lost protection.
I recall my years when younger, as a child at mommy's feet when fears were my companion and only she could bring relief.
I would crawl into her big old bed where she had slept at night and the terrors, dangers and all the pain would magically take flight.
Perhaps it was the softness of the spot in which she lay. Perhaps it was her body's scent that only mother's have who pray.
Whatever magic that sleep did have,  perhaps her old bedspread, if I could spend one night again in my mother's big old bed.