Just One More Day

I had a dream they were babies again,

my three grown kids, now self-sustained.

In my dream I was still their whole world.

My hugs and affection all ails would cure.

I held them close and caressed their faces

while tiny hands wrapped 'round me in soft embraces.

So small, so young, so innocent;

I breathed in deep, their sweet baby scent.

My soul felt light as I lay there dreaming

of me and my babies, before Time's scheming.

From my blissful trance I didn't want to awake

but sleep's veil fell away; my joy dawn did take.

"Just one more day," were the words that slipped from my lips

as wistful tears fell while I lay there transfixed.

Just one more day, please, to stroke their soft hair

and snuggle with them in our old rocking chair.

Just one more day when my kiss and soft words

could soothe all their fears and pain from this world.

Just one more day to say silly things

like "Don't eat bugs" and "No, you won't grow wings,"

instead of more grown-up expressions

like "Why do drugs?" and "I can't fix your depression."

Just one more day of playing dress up with hats,

swinging at the park, and watching Rugrats.

Just one more day of snug bedtime stories

before the dark nights fill their heads with life's worries.

Memories are fickle and time is swift,

so one more day as babes is what I wished.

But time doesn't go back, it cruelly goes onward.

So I got out of bed, my nostalgia ignored.

Now every time on my bed I lay

I pray my dreams bring me, just one more day.

**Can you tell it's past time to refill my hormone cream?

Wistfully Yours,

Lori