At the end of the day
As I read sincerely to my freckled face children.
Absolutely no sign apparent of the previous hours,
I spent pointlessly preventing chaos at the office.
I continually offer just one more short story,
As I consciously strive to sustain the moment,
And when a string of seven books is completed,
I struggle to not look into their angelical eyes
As I close up the last book and kiss them goodnight,
Then gently switch out the light.
To the kitchen I then quickly take flight,
Flick on the jug and casually search for the coffee,
Then I silently sit, with a steaming hot cup in my hand,
And strategically try to take in the silence.
Strangely I hear the fire flickering
And the clamouring of the fridge,
Then I notice one of the kids is snoring –
I remember, some say silence is golden,
Then strangely imagine my hair sprinkled silver,
With the house eerily silent and no-longer full,
So I say silence is not worth holding,
Instead I sincerely suggest, treasure the kids.
Author: Richelle M.F.