The house is so silent but their passage is marked
I see a hat and a bag... a cup of unifnished tea
I miss their giggles, their smell, our snuggles; we melt
I can't wait for their stories, their accomplishments and feats
I love to see twinkles and hold hands and make plans
To smooth hair and rub smudges and cook with some help
But sometimes... I'm tired and weary and weak
I miss the good and the lovely; gone like the mist
A mama's not perfect, she's not always steady and true
But the feet that come running always seem ready to start anew
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