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.