One evening I sing old camp songs
The melodies that filled the lodge at twilight
Swing Low, Suitors, and Seven Daffodils
The lullabies of those summer weeks
I wonder if I’ll use them to rock him to sleep
Some afternoons my head fills with stories
All the scenes I cannot capture
When I’m on someone else’s clock
But word by word, there’s a story to write
I wonder if I’ll read him it at night
With Love,
Natalie