So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom. — Psalm 90:12
When you three were ages 4, 6 & 9,
your mom went to spend a weekend
with friends, and all of you had climbed
into my bed by the night’s end.
After the youngest fell asleep beside
me, the middle joined us mere moments
later, and the oldest before sunrise.
So I wrote this little song, a sonnet,
14 lines about the number of elbows
to my ribs and knees against my chest;
how the hours were so very slow,
and yet I can’t count one single regret.
Dear ones, I’m bleary-eyed and glad,
so tired and so thankful for this math.
