Tuesday, April 15, 2008
I wish there were muddy tracks on the floor,
And the door going shut with a slam.
I wish there were thumb marks all over the doors
And holes in my pots and pans.
I wish there were toys and tops to fix
And a broken window pane.
A little old wagon and a worn out sled out in the storm and rain.
I wish there were little stockings to mend.
A few little bumps to kiss,
A little boy to send to school for never a day dare he miss.
I wish there were little boys to beg cookies, raisins and pie.
I wish my donuts would travel off the pantry shelf on the sly.
But the days of these little tasks are gone
The days of such care oppressed
There is a heartache that only parents can know.
A longing that is never guessed when loving hearts is young manhood glow or planning for mother to rest
No thought of the memories of olden time
Have my boys grown so big and strong
Memories that come like sweet chime of the time when life was a song.
They know not the hours that sometime were spent
They guess not they are grown up boys
That mother is silently looking over a boy or their worn out toys.
And you can’t blame me and wonder
Instead if I long for the years to turn back again
When those men were just little boys.
— Ruth Elliott
March 1904 – August 1996
Drew this little spot illustration for a friend. Her grandmother wrote the poem and she wanted to frame the poem to give to her mother.