My Girls

My Girls My girls are all always on my mind In my heart Not within a stone’s throw Make that a pebble- Or a spit wad Not that I’d use that method of communicating Only disgust allows me the frustration of a morning When I cannot reach out and touch their thoughts Nor influence their minds Every year there are more of them- Every year I am inconsolable Wafting around in circles Wishing there was more of me to drain at their feet In little circles pushing from the shore There would be little sail boats With real sails And no motors Only oars And sweets and snacks to pack For our picnic Across to the island We’ll call home