My heart does flips when I behold
The peas and carrots fly:
So was it when I first began;
So is it with each little man;
Shall it be so ’til I grow old?
I heave a sigh!
The Child is father of the Man;
But now, I find my days to be
Filled to the brim with piles of stained laun-der-y.
* * *
Forgive me Mr. Wordsworth, wherever you are. While chatting with my brother on the phone this weekend, I paused to bellow gently at the children: “Stop eating like The Cookie Monster! I am tired of cleaning up the mess!” My brother laughed wickedly; but I forgive him because he has small children too and suffers similar things.