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She was standing in the kitchen And all the doors were shut She put some wood in the fireplace And stoked the fire up The stove was old and well-worn The years had taken their toll But still she used it now and then When the mornings were dark and cold The old wood stove was just the best On mornings such as these When bedrooms were dark and cold The kitchen was certain to please Each morning she would rise at dawn In the cupboards she would forage On top of the stove was a big pot And she would fill it right up with porridge Into the rooms she would gently pad And wake us one by one We rose from our beds all shivering Winter mornings were no fun But once we got to the kitchen To the fireplace we were drawn We placed our bread on roasting forks Which we toasted by the fire's warmth My treasure trove of memories held deeply within my soul They are my constant reminder Of precious days of old These are keepsakes dear to me Of a humble family home A mother and a father Whom each day would set the tone.
Here is some background to the poem Nola offered that helps you add more details to the picture in your mind:
"[The poem] tells the story of my mother and how she would rise before dawn in our humble Homes West  house which had both an electric stove and old wood stove. How she would light it every winter morning, with wood chopped by my father and stacked in front of the old stove, and close all the doors to the kitchen.
She would get the kitchen all cosy and warm then wake us up one by one to go for breakfast, and the best memory of all was toasting the bread in front of the old wood stove. The taste was just so different to how bread is toasted these days. She even used to make tea from proper tea leafs, not the tea bags."