Home by Suppertime

If you're not here by suppertime,

I guess I'll stop and take the time

To write and tell you what I want to say-

Of all the times I'm missing you,

Wondering if you miss me too,

And little things I do from day to day.

Now supper's cooking on the stove

And I don't want it getting cold

Before I see your car pull in that drive.

I washed the dishes, mopped the floor,

Combed my unkempt hair once more,

And thought of things I'd say when you arrived;

Like:

"How are things today with you?

That new dress looks good on you...

Have you always worn your hair that way?"

While all the time it makes me glad

To watch your eyes light up like that;

It's hard to hear a single thing you say.

Just being with you says it all,

And it's okay if you don't call.

Since writing letters takes a lot of time,

I will be the one tonight

To write to say things are all right

If you are still not here by suppertime.

I wish that you had been there then

And seen that mama's great big grin

And, with her apron, wipe tears from her eyes

When from behind the curtain she

Saw kids and dogs and finally me

Walk in that door at home at suppertime.

Newborn

I feel some little loving arms

holding on so tight.

I feel a racing heartbeat

with just a touch of fright.

I feel some warm and tender love;

I think I'll peek to see.

Yes, I was right:

I see my sister peeking back at me.

And now this strange rough feeling,

strong hands and bony knee,

And eyes so full of manly pride

fixed quietly on me.

I start to cry, he wipes my tears

and looks a little sad.

From all the things I hear them say,

I guess this must be Dad.

What's this! A look I've never seen,

nor can I quite describe;

The feelings that connected us

...waiting there inside.

She sang and talked and laughed

with me,

And loved me as no other.

No one will have to tell me,

I have finally met my mother.