I wish I were a writer
Spending hours with my pen.
But it’s time to cook some dinner
And there’s laundry in the bin.
I wish I were a poet
Spinning metaphors and rhymes.
But there’s just too much to capture
In these precious fleeting times.
So ‘til you boys are older
I’ll set down my pen and pad.
Spend some time just being here,
Enjoying what we have.
And when you’re independent and
I’ve space to do it well,
I’ll think about the times we’ve had
And sit and write a spell.
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