Father, let them know I understand…
For once, I too was young and Time
Went quickly, like grains of sand…
Trickling down an hourglass. Alas,
The hours passed, and then a day.
I’d lay me down, remembering, I’d say
“Tomorrow, Mom, I’ll call,” then fall asleep.
So tired, conscience-smitten; so deep
My guilt, sometimes I’d dream and, restless,
Wake and, oft-times, silently I’d weep,
Fearful lest she think I loved her less.
Then when tomorrow dawned, hurriedly,
I’d call and find her gone. Marketing, perhaps.
At least, not home, alone.
Then, conscious clear, proceed to do
The thousand things in my routine
Of chores, like all the other days – none new –
But time consuming…my daily hours too few.
And another day went past, so fast
For me. And another, and things became awry.
My thoughts would go a-wandering…why?
Something pricking conscience, brain──
Dear Mom, I’d forgotten Time again.