Volunteer Mothering

"I wish my Momma worked here, too,"

The little boy told me at school.

He showed me his papers as I sat there busy

With copies and folders and glue.

"I wish that she'd eat lunch with me.

Do you think you'll stay?"

He asked with tender, pleading eyes

As my son went to play.

"I'm sure your Momma's working hard,"

I offered with a smile,

But couldn't help but wish, for him,

That she was there, not I.

He talked about his daily work,

His plans for after school.

He told me how he missed and loved

His mother, and I knew

As he hugged me quietly,

Before I walked away,

That I had done the most important

Work I could today.