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A mothers worries

In the early Sunday morning
I wake from a sleep so sublime
By the rumbling, thundering clattering sounds
Which are these children of mine
 
Sleep deprivations an issue,
Every mother would know
But the sight of my children making breakfast for me
Is enough to bring back the glow.
 
My daughters buttering toast,
That’s burnt to desperate despair
My son is pouring the orange juice
but it’s spilled out everywhere
 
Im not angry by the mess,
i can clean it up real soon,
I’m just making the most of my children
before adolescence is in bloom.
 
The thought of them trying so hard
puts a smile on my ageing face,
but i fear the day they become teenagers,
i will wallow in disgrace.
 
Locked away in their rooms
I’ll be ever so distraught,
why cant my children stay young and compliant,
oh its just a ludicrous thought.

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