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We Mothers...






We mothers can never catch up.
There are always socks to wash,
socks to pair,
feet to put into the socks,
shoes to put on the feet,
footprints on the floor
from the tiny feet,
sticky fingerprints on
every surface above the floor.
There are hands to wash
that made the sticky surfaces,
a face to wash above the hands,
a belly to feed below the face,
crumbs to wipe up that didn't
make it to the belly,
an endless trail of books and toys
to gather beside the crumbs.
The trail leads to a tired
little body that must be
tucked into bed
at the end of the day.
The little body
has sleepy eyes that want
a smile of reassurance,
the rosy cheeks below the
eyes need a kiss goodnight,
a hand below the cheeks
must be patted
while the ears above
the hand are promised
that no monsters lurk about.
The light dims,
the night is short,
and dawn always arrives early.
Rest is craved,
but not received,
because the socks need to
be washed and paired,
and put on the tiny feet,
and hands need to be washed
and the belly fed,
but every mother knows
the effort is worth it
when the mouth that
owns the belly says,
"I Love you."








"We Mothers," written and designed by Bobette Bryan, 2002






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