The shoutings' stopped,
the fightings' ceased
the doors don't slam anymore.
Their rooms stay clean,
no wash to do~
the bathrooms' finally mine.
Should be bliss, I tell myself,
as I roam this silent house.
But all that noise I always heard~
I remember now. . . was laughter. . .
And those whiny voices and grubby fingers
were part of little arms. . .
Wrapped tightly 'round my neck
to give me sloppy, precious kissses.
How come I never knew back then
to cherish every moment?
That all the mess and all the noise~
was "bliss" I somehow missed. . .
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