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My hands were busy through the day.
I didn't have much time to play.
The little games you asked me to.
I didn't have much time for you.
I'd wash your clothes, I'd sew and cook.
But when you'd bring your picture book.
And ask me please to share your play.
I'd say:"A little later in the day."
I'd tuck you in all safe at night.
I'd hear your prayers, turn out the light.
Then tip-toe softly to the door.
I'd wish I'd stayed a little more.
For life is short, the years rush past.
A little child grows up so fast.
They are no longer at your side.
Their precious secrets to confide.
The picture books are put away.
There are no longer games to play,
No good-night kiss, no prayers to hear.
That all belongs to yesteryear.
My hands, once busy, now are still.
The days are long and hard to fill.
I wish I could go back and do.
The little things you asked me to.
Love, Mom ~xo~xo~xo~
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