10/08/2011

At nearly-six, you're not too big

to rock to sleep at night.

You're not too old to kiss, to hold,

to sleep with a nightlight.

At nearly-six, you're not too big

for flannel pajamas and dinosaur tees.

You're not aware that people might stare

if you fall and you skin your knee.

At nearly-six, you do not care

if you fit in society's mold.

You just live and laugh and love because,

at just nearly-six you aren't old.

At nearly-six, your Mom recalls

miles of memories.

And it seems to her a paradox

how quickly those miles can flee.

Nearly-six years of shared stories.

Nearly-six years of your smile.

Nearly-six years of bottles and meals.

And, oh, how nearly-six flies!

Nearly-six, will you stay a bit longer?

Will you linger while I take you in?

I do not need to turn back time's dial,

just for a time cease it to spin.

Nearly-six and he's checking for loose teeth,

saying that he's growing tall,

asking grown-up questions,

and calling toddlers "small."

Nearly-six and he's fast comprehending

that some things can't be understood:

That the world is dark, that fear is real,

and that somehow God is still good.

Oh, twenty six year old Mother,

don't let these moments slip past.

Nearly-seven is just 'round the corner.

Fill the years with things that will last.