The Mother’s hour

The time has come,
The night is still.
I’m bone tired,
On this treadmill,
I should to bed,
And yet I will:
Stay up and feast.
On calmness fill.
My morning self
Will pay the bill.
For current hush
In which I thrill.

Someday the chaos
May all be still.
No running, stomping,
No angry shrill.
Nor tender giggles
This house to fill.
Silence may then
Be a bitter pill.
But that is then,
And then until;
I embrace this peace
When night is still.img_0247

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3 thoughts on “The Mother’s hour

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