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.
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