To My Grown-Up Son

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 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 tiptoe 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 goodnight 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.

*  *  *

~ author unknown ~