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| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Emotional >> ID #706428 |
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They wait by the door Every Friday night. Hoping they will see His car come into sight. "He called me on Tuesday, Mom, he said he'd be here." "Maybe he will, sweetheart" I say, hugging her near. But, what if he doesn't? What will I say? How can I make The hurt go away? Doesn't he realize The extent of their pain? When he doesn't show up, The tears fall like rain. It's so hard as a mother To see your little ones upset. Because you know what they are feeling, They will not soon forget. I've begged their father, "Please, don't you lie, You're not there to hold them, When they break down and cry." My daughters are wise, Far beyond their years. They comprehend more With each lie they hear. One day they'll confront him. They will ask him why. He shouldn't be surprised, When they turn and say goodbye.
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