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
asked me please to share your fun,
I’d
say: “a little later, son.”
I’d
tuck you in all safe at night,
And
hear your prayers, turn out the light,
Then
tip-toe softly to the door…
I
wish I’d stayed a minute more.
For
life is short, the years rush past…
A
little boy grows up so fast.
No
longer is he at your side,
His
precious secrets to confide.
The
picture books are put away;
There
are no longer games to play.
No
good-night kiss, no payers 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.
