Two figures pressing their icy lips together,
Stiff arms lovingly locked in a stony embrace.
Kids climbing up, resting their feet on steady arms.
Attempting to ascend higher, to play older, taller than they are.
Loud laughter as they fall, one after the other.
I head home, my home, with a grin splitting my face.
Lying on my bed, wishing to have as much charm
And smarts as Big Sister, I gaze at the -by far-
Best bookcase. Simple, with no intricate designs.
Treasured books leaning on each other for support,
Their familiar, slightly worn covers slowly lulling me to sleep. Now, as I

Stare at the same books, lying awake on a bed,
I notice their worn covers. They have been read
And re-read so many times, they look ready to
Fall apart.
Children. I hope you’re treasuring your home
(Not wasting it),
Living in it (not in the future).
(Unlike me).