I found this poem tucked away with a few of Mom's Immigration things. I have to share it with you. I tried scanning it and copying the link but I couldn't get that to work properly.
Just a thought about my son Christopher (1958)
"Childish Mischief"
He is always up to mischief
So he makes me endless toil.
As fast as I have tidied
He will litter, spill and spoil.
He can't help but open every
Cupboard that he's passed.
He is healthy and he is growing
And his little brain works fast.
Spotless clothes mean nothing
When a puddle promises fun.
No wonder that I grumble
That my work is never done.
That my work is never done.
But now that he is listless
And his rosy cheeks are white
A childish ill has robbed him
Of his healthy appetite.
I wonder why I thought his
Boundless energy a strain.
He can tear the house to pieces
If he'll just get well again.
so beautiful! so perfect that she wrote that about her Christopher!
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