Sticky Hands

In a world where life is not always filled with joy

Lies a journey blessed, one without a ploy.

A story, intertwined by love's unconditional strands

Unfolding in the realm of sticky hands.

I am a mother, a protector and even a night light

from early in the morning to late every single night

With tender hearts and laughter that expands,

I embrace the chaos of their sticky hands.

Oh, the magic they have, these little boys,

With mischief in their eyes, and endless noise.

They race through life, like wild horses that roam,

Leaving traces of adventure wherever go,

Sticky hands, their mark etched upon every wall, table and door,

A testament to the escapades they so adore.

Fingerprints of tiny beings, filled with dreams,

Exploring the world, and all its ever changing scenes

With each passing day, their spirits unfurl,

As they discover life's treasures, like precious pearls.

From muddy puddles to climbing mighty trees,

The essence of their childhood forever breathes.

In their embrace, I am reminded, time won't stand still,

Their fleeting years slipping through my grasp, my will.

So, I cherish these moments, both tender and grand,

As I hold their innocence within my hand.

For in their sticky fingers lies a love oh so deep,

A bond unbreakable, making priceless memories to keep.

I am their anchor, their home, their safe haven in the storm,

Their comfort, their guide, when life takes a different form.

So, I embrace the messes, the laughter, and the tears,

Knowing that it is only for a few short beautiful years.

In the chaos, I find solace, a purpose so true,

For being a mom of little boys, is a blessing so few.

For one day there will be no sticky hands,

Where my little boy once stood there will be a man.