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 to play with you. I'd wash your clothes, I'd sew and cook, but when you'd bring me 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, and 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.
A poem sent into, Ann Landers.
I've kept this poem for many years and just wanted to share it
Kenneth "Murel" Crum Jr. Sept 7 1994