The Last Supper

My house is always full of laughter, Never quiet, only bursting from the noise, There's not a single day, ever the same, Bringing up my three, wild, yet wonderful boys. But when it comes to bedtime, A never-ending battle to get done, For once I wish they'd realise, That it's not the time for fun. Constantly winding each other up, Only ending when one of them cries, When all it is, I really want, Is them to rest and close their eyes. I'm sick to death of hearing, I don't know how you cope, One night they might do as told, For this I pray and hope. I'm bored, thirsty or hungry they say, Whenever they know bedtime is near, Rolling my eyes, I give in to their demands, Longing for the day it's no longer, "The Last Supper" here.