When all the toys are gone
There will be no Lego-strewn stairs to pick my way through each morning
Or dinosaurs and barbie dolls stretched out across the living room floor
The milk will be neatly sitting in the fridge, not in a puddle at the kitchen table
And the laundry basket will not be overspilling onto the unwashed floor.
My cupboards and drawers will be mine once more
Not filled with pictures and paintings and cards declaring undying love for me, in writing that only I can read.
There will be no odd socks or homemade volcanos looking for a home
No piles of shoes to tidy or lunchboxes to fill
There will be no little white vests or muddy tracksuits thrown on bedroom floors
Nor teddy bears collecting dust on over-stuffed shelves.
There will be no fighting or shouting or cries of 'He hit me!' 'It's not fair!' 'You're so mean!'
When all the toys are gone
I will listen to the silence I sought
And wander through the clean and orderly rooms I craved
And I will miss these days.
