Was there ever a day
You came a day early?

Or was there always a plan
To the day, the word, the shaking of the hand?

I was proud, proud constantly
That you never came
To shock or surprise me,

Always coming the day precisely
You said you would come—the same.

You would never believe
How nice it was that I never saw you grieve;

Before that happened, you would leave,
The planned day would be over

And you would be gone.   You are not a rover,
Nor am I, mother.

You came on time
And went before I would show you a rhyme.

If you planned against plan and came on a day
Not expected, and I showed my face, and asked,
I don’t think you would stay.

Mother!  This is what I thought today.



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