Night Duty

When day has spent her justly time
And night has come at last
I am weary and footsore
And think my duties past.

Then on my pillow, soft and cool
My head I long to lay
So I make plans, as shoes slip off
To swiftly hit the hay.  

Yet ere I reach my haven sweet
To get much needed rest,
A loud cry, "Drink Mom," in my ears
   puts my nerves to a test.

I totter in with glass in hand
And stumble o'er the toys
That should have been in proper place
Yet boys will e're be boys.

As I dispose of each tiny car
or block, until the dawn,
I can't help think, with heavy heart--
How I'll miss our boys when they're gone.

By Treva E. Stokes (1912-1980)