by The Feminist Turned HouseWife

There will come a day

so quiet, so still,

when no small feet run through the halls,

no laughter echoes off the walls,

no whispered “Mama, stay a little longer”

from the doorway in the dark.

One day, the last crayon masterpiece will be drawn,

the last block tower built,

the last bandaid kissed,

the last lullaby sung.

And you won’t know it was the last,

not until the house stays quiet,

the toys remain untouched, and bedtime comes without a sound.

Only then will you realize: those noisy, tender, fleeting days

were the very ones

you’d give anything

to live once more.