I tried my very best
To get out the door
But it’s quite hard to hurry
A daughter who’s four

She’s not the only one
Her sister is just two
Rushing out the door
Is more than she can do

We fight about jackets
We fight about shoes
We fight about headbands
And wearing tutus

We bring all the books
We bring all the snacks
And for the baby dolls
We even turn back

So sorry I’m late
And I’ll never be early
But you see I have two
Highly sensitive girlies

Perhaps one day
Will quietly arrive
That I say put on shoes
And nobody cries

There’ll be no more diapers
No blanket or lovey
By then they might even
Ask me for a car key

Maybe then I’ll be early
No little hand to hold
I’ll walk in the door wondering
Why we have to grow old

I’ll help a young mom
Her son’s shoes aren’t a pair
I’ll hold the door open
I’m proud that she’s there

Because I remember when
I walked in those shoes
And I’ll always remember
When mine were just two

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[ Written at red lights on the way to something, quite late, of course. ]

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