Moving Out

When I moved from my parents’ house,
I really couldn’t wait 
To start my life; the leaving was
A cause to celebrate.

A memory occurs to me:
When I approached my mom
To tell her of my plans to move,
I’d not expected calm.

I’d practiced in my head the things
That I had planned to say
When she would protest, practically
Demanding that I stay.

Instead, she offered me my bed 
And dishes, pans and pots.
To realize she was ready, too,
Well, just connect the dots.

I liked my folks; we got along,
Yet it was time to split.
I had a job and never
Second-guessed things, not a bit.

Today it seems that, more and more,
Kids don’t renounce their claim
On their childhood homes and that, to me,
Is really quite a shame.

homemoving onrhyme

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