Hold her close, said the mother to the friend.
I'm 26 now, but she'll never be 5 again.
My first born baby grew up somehow.
And I never saw, though it was under my brow.
She's grown so tall, so smart, and so free.
When looking at her it's like a portrait of me.
Her eyes may be green - that's her daddy you see.
But her brown curly hair - she gets that from me.
She'll be leaving next fall, on the school bus - I'll cry.
I'll be waving though tears - tears she'll never see.
Mommy is strong - or so she seems to be.
That big yellow bus will take my baby away.
But it will bring her home at the end of her day.
So hold her close, said the mother to her friend.
Addition and subtraction isn't what she'll remember in the end.
Those last minute stories and long talks at night,
and the cups of hot cocoa made just right.
She'll remember the times us mommies forget.
In the end the hugs and the kisses she'll remember best.
Family Matters Most
This is the same age my oldest daughter and I were back when she started school, she didn't take a bus, but her younger sister and I walked her to school. She looked so small, but ready to...
For Adara
Published by Family Friend Poems July 2006 with permission of the Author.
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