Little bit o' writers block

OK, not really, but I've been really busy and I'm really tired, and instead of writing yet another post about my bike riding weekend (FYI: I put in 62 miles this weekend, impressive, yes, but only a third of the distance I have to cover in only 6 short weeks), I'm giving you a poem.

This poem was sent to me today by a very good friend. She is a brand new Mommy and her husband's aunt gave her this poem in a frame to hang in her daughter's room. Well, last night, she actually took a moment and read the poem and it touched her heart. In these busy times, I think it's good to have a reminder to take a breather and play with your children because they won't be little children forever.

My friend shared this poem with me, and now, my friends, I am sharing it with you.

Song for a Fifth Child

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth

empty the dustpan, poison the moth,

hang out the washing and butter the bread,

sew on a button and make up a bed.

Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?

She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I've grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue

(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

Dishes are waiting and bills are past due

(pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).

The shopping's not done and there's nothing for stew

and out in the yard there's a hullabaloo

but I'm playing Kanga and this is my Roo.

Look! Aren't her eyes the most wonderful hue?

(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,

for children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.

So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.

I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.

By Ruth Hulburt Hamilton