Cherish These Days. They Can't Last
I knew your mother when she was your age. She wasn't much
Like you. Oh, yes, she also was a beauty, but she wasn't light.
Nobody told her she would go to college. She was going
To have to work, and, knowing this extinguished any lightness
Which she might have had. Each day was duty, little more.
She married young, and had to stay at home to watch you
And your sister. Thanks to her, you went to college. Finished
Now, but unemployed, you're like a grown-up girl, full
Of optimism, without cares, and your high spirits spread
To me. Your mother, pretty as she was, sometimes was
Hard to be around. Even now, I know she's telling you
You have to find a job. I'm sure you will, and sure you
Should, but, in the meantime, you and I, an altogether
Useless man, have had a lot of fun.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
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Written on 2024-10-09 at 00:29
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