They come to me like orphans seeking homes—

All restless, gazing meekly at their feet:

The little thoughts with some slight air of poems,

Too shy to say “I long to be complete.”

Oh, what to do?  I must needs let them in,

These raffish urchins—babbling, scratching heads…

They scatter, raiding every nook and bin,

Then wrestle, bouncing, on my just-made beds

Till I instruct them how to mind themselves:

To hush when ordered, help with laundering,

To dress up nicely, organize their shelves,

Learn lessons, and smile brightly when they sing.

Someday, I hope they’ll grow up strong and tall

And speak adroitly, but with passion too…

I’ll beam when people ask, “Are they yours?  All?”

I’ll say, “Well, now they are,” and know it’s true.