|An actual picture from Sunday morning|
Whose shoes these are I think I know.
Their minds are lost in childhood though;
They will not hear me calling names
Or care that I pick up and go.
My little dogs must think it queer
To see me stand and wipe a tear
Between the door and dirty hall
This messy season of the year.
They frown and give their heads a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the din
That happy children playing make.
This house is cluttered, small and sweet
But I have promises to keep ~
And miles to love before I sleep
And miles to love before I sleep.
(My apologies and affection to Robert Frost!)