Vintage Genie In a Bottle
Honeymoon glamour faded with champagne bubbles
and curly locks of cigar smoke.
Newlywed escapades replaced by newborn demands
but daily celebrations still tickle my bottle.
Champagne adventures traded
for vintage wine,
tradition infused with grains of patient time
more precious by the month, the year,
the generation.
It's an honor to wear silver ribbons of concern
even when the grapes are sour;
when the chores pile up
and making the most of it still isn't enough.
Each task, each moment, each worry
is an investment made in tomorrow's tomorrow.
But, ah, even generic wine is sweeter
after a bottle of pucker has passed.
There is no price tag on my services,
no better offer I'd ever consider
because the compensation for myriads of hours
is watching lives pour from my bottle
in all varieties of flavor
but with the ability to savor the champagne,
smile even when life is too tart,
and crawl if they're knocked off their feet.
I pray never to see the end,
never to see the final results of my life's work.
It's my job to just be a part of the magic
and hope they'll remember the Genie in a bottle
whose one wish was to grant and deny their wishes
with the vested love of a mother.
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