You put up with it because <br />as tiresome as it is, and as they can sometimes be, <br />somewhere there, there's always love. <br /> <br />He may take interest <br />in something to be repaired <br />that's mechanical; and <br />there's cars to wash and clean, <br />hobby things to sort and tidy. <br /> <br />Some kids are good or disciplined; <br />but there's never quite the time <br />in their expanding world <br />for doing just what you do <br />for the house.. <br /> <br />But in the human heart <br />there's this locked, dusty room - you haven't dared <br />to look inside for years - or indeed <br />since childhood, for some people - <br />full of junk, of cobwebs, <br />broken windows, their sashes jammed, <br />cupboards that won't open, drawers <br />whose contents stop them opening; even <br />the birds have stopped their nesting there; <br />a room of memories that whisper when it's dark <br /> <br />It's the room that's family. <br />And surprise - the light still works.. <br />A family can sort and dust and wash and clean and tidy it <br />in less time than they take <br />to slam the door <br />yet only you know that it's done, and how it's done. <br />And you say nothing. <br /> <br />Somewhere, two strangers <br />smile at one another<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-family-room-for-mary/
