Perhaps we could have been at work today
You fixing cars, and I still writing text;
Just letting other’s needs dictate what’s next
While keeping boredom and despair at bay.
We might have rushed home to be with the kids
To feed and bathe and tend to all their ills
To cook and clean and pay the frigging bills
And then to watch TV through leaden lids.
But no. We’re old. We don’t work every day.
The kids are grown, pursuing their own bliss.
We have the time to play and talk and kiss
And to enjoy whatever comes our way.
I’m glad, my love, that you’ve grown old with me
The best, my dear, is what we two now see.