Five in a bed is not forever.
Awake at five, I know.
They will grow out of these pajamas then
One long day they will grow away.
He will grow to pass, those dog gone years
And we will grow nearer and gray
Trying just enough for the two of us
To fit in this old bed.
Awake, I feel.
My same hand through the years
Searching for the roundness of their faces
Listening to our sleeping night together,
Growing tired as another day comes
Too soon and slowly, but
Never of this, what is not forever.
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