There are dishes in the drainer ready to be stored;
there are towels to be dried and memories to record.
There are counters to be wiped and a table to be cleared;
there are e-mails awaiting and laundry just appeared.
There are dinner plans not started and mail all askew;
there are calls to return and things left to do.
There are crumbs completely scattered and a floor full of toys;
there are bills to be paid and the washer’s making noise.
There are thoughts to be written and books left unread;
there are shirts to be hung and dirty hairs upon my head.
There are dust balls on my dresser and spit marks on the mirror;
there are things to be finished and Christmas is drawing nearer.
There are suitcases left unpacked and an early gift to wrap,
but none of that really matters when you climb up on my lap.
No, nothing REALLY matters when you climb up on my lap.