My Hands Were Busy


Losing a young child

My hands were busy through the day,
I didn’t have much time to play.
The little games you asked me to,
I didn’t have much time for you.

I’d wash your clothes; I’d sew and cook,
But when you’d bring your picture book,
And ask me, please, to share your fun,
I’d say, “Yes, later, little one”.

I’d tuck you in all safe at night,
and hear your prayers, turn out the light.
Then tip-toe softly to the door,
I wished I’d stayed a minute more.

For life is short and years rush past,
A little child grows up so fast.
No longer are they at your side,
Their precious secrets to confide.

The picture books are put away.
There are no children’s games to play.
No goodnight kiss, no prayers to hear,
That all belongs to yesteryear.

My hands once busy, now lie still
The days are long and hard to fill.
I wish I might go back and do
The little things you asked me to.