ONE DAY...

There’ll be no books on the floor, no papers, no bags,
No cushions, or shoes, or bread sack tags,
The chairs round the table will be neatly in place
We’ll sit on a seat without first clearing a space.

The beds in each room will be perfectly made,
Everything on the dresser will be neatly displayed,
There’ll be nothing to quickly shove under the bed
So the room will look tidy before books can be read.

The bathroom will have a permanent sheen,
Every inch of it will be immaculately clean,
There won’t be a queue lining up at the door
And there’ll be no towels hung up on the floor.

The windows will all be spotlessly clean,
Not one fingerprint will be there to be seen,
There’ll be no food smeared over the glass—
Even the curtains will look first class!

The entrance will seem so empty each night
No cars will be vying for space - so tight,
No bikes will be waiting to be locked in the shed
After the boys have all stealthily sneaked off to bed.

The mornings will seem very peaceable now,
There’ll be no-one to madly rush for the shower,
No-one will have to be dragged from their bed,
No last minute homework will need to be read.

Packed lunches will now be a thing of the past,
Cereals may keep for a week—at last!
One loaf of bread will be enough for a day
And the milkman will think we have moved right away.

However...

The day could be a bit of a drag,
With no washing to do the time will lag,
The children all gone and no schooling to be done
May cause one to feel that life is no fun.

The vacuuming won’t need to be done for a week,
The ironing will be left with nary a peek,
The baking could remain in the tins for so long—
I’d wonder if I’d got the recipe wrong!

The evenings may seem a bit of a bore
With not much to do—not even a chore,
No stories to read, no games to play,
No chatting about the events of the day.

I think...

I should be content with what I have now—
Pack more love and happiness into each hour,
Be more pleasant, gentle, tender and kind,
Make lots of good memories to leave behind.

It’s not till they’ve gone that you realize how fast
Twenty years can fly by—ever so fast,
I’m thankful I have another twenty or so
Before my last baby fledgling will have to go.

Copyright © 1995 by Margaret Hartnett