Empty Nest

My last child left out on her own
The time has finally come;
I never thought I'd be alone
Since first I was a mum.

Odd stockings on the carpet
Are strewn about no more;
The coats are neatly hung on pegs
And no one slams the door.

The banister the lads would slide
Is now collecting dust;
The bicycles they used to ride
Are overcome by rust.

There's always some left over
When I make a pot of stew;
And morning's so much simpler
With no queue to use the loo!

The house that was so busy
Is quiet for a change;
Without the children's laughter
I find it very strange.

I'm told I'll learn to like it
But I think they are wrong;
I cannot wait until the day
Grandchildren come along!

by Grace Atkinson

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