Leaving The Nest Poem by Mad Gone

Awakened by the joyful, busy call of the birds,
I listen keenly for any sound upon the stairs.
No sound of dishes clattering.
or of the kitchen doors being battered.
No noise from kettles boiling,
No voices in conversation joining.

With schoolbags no longer hogging up the doorway,
As they have all since gone their on own way.
The dogs are quiet and no longer care to bark,
While the cats have chosen to no longer playfully lark.
The clock shows the hour of eight,
But no children are leaving by the garden gate.

The noise arises from the street,
With the passing of commercial fleet.
The papers where delivered some hours ago,
Reporting the news of both friend and foe.
Telling us of the world at large,
While we watch and follow those in charge.

But what good will they do for me?
As I like them can no longer see.
I raised my kids, in time honoured fashion,
While are pensions are now slowly rationed.
New opportunities have come their way,
But I fear it is here that I must stay.

Working hard to earn our meagre living,
Children with everything on their plate now given.
They grasped the life style on the tv ad,
And now forgot the way of life they ever had.
No university education can replace,
The warm and welcoming family brace.

The phones line must be down,
Internet must not yet have reached that town.
Writing paper must be in short supply,
Universities with stringent cuts now comply.
While I listen to the call of the morning.
I wonder why the world still keeps on turning!

Then classes break up for the term,
And back to family nests they slowly worm.
With three months of dirty clothes,
And stories of the lectors that they loathed.
Coats at the end of the stairs now hang.
The doors once again begin to bang,
But now I have learnt not to complain,
And wish to have them back at home again.
Forgotten are the tiny pains,
Nothing matters now as it rains.
No more, tidy up your room,
As their return to university, I fear soon looms.

While I often wished for solitude,
When they were so often being rude.
The hallway now seems bare.
While nothing is lingering on the stairs.
Their rooms are now so clean and tidy,
They left before I was even ready.

Where is the tiny dark haired girl,
With those beautiful, delightful, dangling curls.
The cheeky smile and the scolding ways,
As she would so often depict the play.
I often watched her breath as she lay,
And remember how she hugged me through the day!