Stop growing up so darn fast

The father reading to his girl
some little tale they always read
is unaware that this may be
the last one that she'll ever need
she's grown past stories softly read
by daddy sitting on the bed.


The mother with her muddy son

kicking a football in the park

cannot sense as they wander home

through chilly, soft approaching dark

this was the last time they'd come out

to kick that happy ball about.

How secret sneaky-soft they come
those last times when we'll kiss it better
hold their hand across the road

or lift them up to post a letter

they pass unmarked, unnoticed for

we're not so needed anymore.

So the abandoned fairy tales and

nursery rhymes that mummy sings

leave behind soft toys and us

and put away their childish things

a loss so small, our loss the greater

un-missed, un-mourned until years later.

Lucy Berry