There is a room with memories there,
crowded with treasures, hard to bare,
throwing anything away, given instead,
counting books to them, which were read,
as each sat on mothers lap, eyes wide,
not even a word, did she try to hide.
The highchair where each one did eat,
even though the spinach was a feat,
spitting it up, was not to be done,
but rolling it around sure was fun,
as one by one, climbed over the back
spirit but wisdom, each one did lack.
A filing cabinet, covered with rust,
filled with papers, parents did trust,
so each special occasion filed inside
even the ugly, we did no try to hide,
then they left home, to be on their own
now even the ugly, an artist was shown.
So treasure, we'll put every thing back,
but you know courage, parents do lack
for to us things will never be the same
and yet through treasure, memories remain,
until that day, when both of us go home,
through the treasure, you four will roam. |
