I'm no poet but.....

Ok I admit I'm no poet, but I've put pen to paper for a few minutes so here you go.



The Anti-Fingerprints Poem

I know we’ve all heard that little poem
About when our children are small,
And how they always leave their fingerprints
On furniture and walls.

We’re told how we will miss these days
Once the kids have grown,
And how we too would savour these times
If only we had known.

But even though I’ve pondered this
And weighed up all I’ve been told,
I’ve got to tell you that despite all this
I don’t really think I’m sold.

Yes fingerprints mean extra work
And my once clean furniture is now a shade of brown,
But it’s stepping in the little “puddles” I sometimes find
That turns my smile upside down.

The never-ending piles of laundry
And the dinners tipped on the floor,
You would have to be a lunatic
If you ever wished for more.

It’s the supermarket tantrums
In which I fail to see the fun,
Or perhaps it’s simply that I despise
Being woken before the sun.

I’m not longing for my single days
Or back to the years of my first kiss,
But you have got to be at last a little crazy
Thinking this kind of stuff I’ll miss.

I know you think I’ve missed the point
But instead I believe you may find,
That those older and wiser with children grown
Have simply lost their mind.