A Poem My Mom Gave Me Around 1982

To My Grown Up Son

My hands were busy throughout the day,
I didn't have much time to play,
The little games you ask me to.
I didn't make 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.

Life is short; the years rush past;
A little boy grows up so fast.
No Longer is he by your side,
His precious secrets to confide.

The picture books are put away,
There aren't any games to play.
No goodnight kiss, no prayer to hear,
That all belongs to yesteryear.

My hands, once busy, now lie still;
The days are long and hard to fill;
And I wish I could go back and do
The little things you asked me to.

Unknown author