I found this poem in some old papers. Does anyone know the author’s name? The words say it all, don’t they?

It’s too much trouble to go to the beach.
We’ll wait for another day
When the floors are scrubbed
And the clothes are washed
And everything’s put away.
And then one day, my work was done
Let’s go to the beach I said
And I looked outside but the wind was cold and summers leaves were red,
And I looked around for those golden heads
But the children too had flown
And now I know if I go to the beach,
I go to the beach alone.

“It’s not the years in your life that count, but the life in your years.” – Abraham Lincoln

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heavens. (Ecclesiastes 3:1, KJV)

Prayer – Lord, forgive us for not being there when our kids needed us. Help us do better now that we know better. Amen

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