May Poetry, 1

I haven't been writing because the only things I think about these days are babies and gardening. I will spare you the daily minutia of my narrow-minded thoughts.

However, Mother's Day is coming. It's one of my favorites because to me it is yet another celebration of Spring and growing things and the creation of growing things (children), but also because I love my Mother so much. She's fantastic and I never cease to learn things by watching her and by remembering things she has done. I was hoping to post a poem about Mothers every day this week, but I have discovered that many poets have strained relationships with their mothers and I have found few I'd like to post here. Fathers, though, have created some lovely poems about parenting, and I will share some of their works. I might still find one or two by or about mothers, we'll see.

This week my husband has been at home more than usual, and our 18-month-old son cannot stand to be without his Dad. Every two minutes he asks about Daddy. It's both touching and annoying (depending on my level of patience), but mostly wonderful. Of course, Daddy has to go to work and such, but when he's home, he is the most popular man in the universe and all of us want to spend time with him. This poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow captures the idea that children always want to play, no matter what Dad is doing and no matter how early in the morning he is trying to get his work done... and how Dads sometimes have a way of turning interruptions around and taking the game up a level.

The Children's Hour
BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

Between the dark and the daylight,
When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day's occupations,
That is known as the Children's Hour.

I hear in the chamber above me
The patter of little feet,
The sound of a door that is opened,
And voices soft and sweet.

From my study I see in the lamplight,
Descending the broad hall stair,
Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,
And Edith with golden hair.

A whisper, and then a silence:
Yet I know by their merry eyes
They are plotting and planning together
To take me by surprise.

A sudden rush from the stairway,
A sudden raid from the hall!
By three doors left unguarded
They enter my castle wall!

They climb up into my turret
O'er the arms and back of my chair;
If I try to escape, they surround me;
They seem to be everywhere.

They almost devour me with kisses,
Their arms about me entwine,
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,
Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old mustache as I am
Is not a match for you all!

I have you fast in my fortress,
And will not let you depart,
But put you down into the dungeon
In the round-tower of my heart.

And there will I keep you forever,
Yes, forever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
And moulder in dust away!