I wish there were muddy tracks on the floor 
And a door going shut with a slam; 
I wish there were thumb marks all over the door, 
And a hole in my pot of jam; 
I wish there were tops and toys to fix, 
A broken window pane, 
A little old wagon, a worn-out sled, 
Out in the storm and the rain. 

I wish there were little stockings to mend, 
A few little bumps to kiss, 
A little boy to school to send, 
For never a day dare he miss. 
I wish there were little boys to beg 
For cookies or raisins or pie; 
I wish my doughnuts would travel off 
My pantry shelf, on the sly. 

But the days of these little tasks are gone, 
The days of such care oppressed. 
There's a heartache which only a mother will own, 
When her birds have all flown from the nest. 
~Author Unknown