The Toughest Job

Just a few days old, a precious little life.

The husband stands next to a tired wife.

Its time to rest, this she does know.

Carefully, with tears, she lets go.

Bright September morn, a boy kicks a stone.

Impatiently waiting,  he wants to stand alone.

Mom stands back, Dad says the bus will show.

She waves at his grin as she lets go.

Bands and books hype the late August.

Dad aches from luggage, his back will adjust.

Mom smiles bravely  but moves away slow

Her child to the ivy halls, she lets go.

The height of June, flashbulbs pop bright.

A man in black, and a woman in white.

A dad brings her down, passes her hand aglow.

The two moms look at their babies and let go.

Dads smile and nod and make a joke or two.

Although similar, he has a different job to do.

Done with grace, though it hurts her so

A loving mother’s toughest job, is letting go.