We've three little chairs,
One for each of our cares,
In colors of red and blue.
Each child takes a seat,
When it comes time to eat,
Around their table askew.
Our youngest leaves first,
Complaining of thirst,
As she quickly marches away.
Our eldest declares,
As she stands on her chair,
Her dislike of tonight's entree.
Which leaves only one,
Our cheeky young son,
Who doesn't eat much anyway.
Each one leaves their plate,
In its uneaten state,
Their behavior in disarray.
Then I reach for the wine,
And Kathleen and I dine,
A mother and father alone.
It's evenings like this,
That in time we will miss,
When our children are finally grown.
Happy sweeping!
Bob Gunther
Webmaster, ContestHound.com
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