Living On Three Continents: Visitors
Susan Siddeley's welcomed, and welcoming, poem will strike a chord with many a parent.
They're coming to visit, they're coming to stay.
They're coming tomorrow from quite far away.
The house is all tidy, the beds are all aired.
The pantry is stocked and the towels are paired.
It's lovely to see them, although they look pale,
but with sun and fresh air, you know they can't fail
to rest and relax and enjoy their vacation,
and everyone knows Serving On's my vocation.
They've been here ten days and all they have done
is lie-in in bed, then lie-out in the sun.
They don't lift a finger; they just sleep and eat
or look at a video, sprawled on my suite.
We've got through more bread than Her Majesty's Army.
I?ve made tea and toast so you'd swear I was barmy.
Our Breakfast now lasts from Eight until One.
And after comes Lunch - from Twelve 'til they're done.
Then they go out to bathe 'til they're sore
and then they're back in dripping wet on my floor.
They wash and they shower, though not very dirty.
It's been quite hard for me not to get shirty.
Clean water is precious on our little farm --
not showering on holiday does you no harm.
They dine and retire; there's no washing up.
Whenever they drink, it?s from a clean cup.
I've mountains on ironing and dishes to clear,
but they think I can chat and a meal will appear
without any effort, without any looking;
for them food is magic -- no shopping or cooking.
They're my Children of course! A long way they?ve come.
This is their Home and I am their Mum.
Although they're Grown Up and fairly well paid,
a Visit's like Old Times, when I was the Maid.
Well, now they are Gone - all's quiet and bare,
no clothes or wet towels all strewn everywhere.
There is no loud music, no books left around,
no calls for more coffee; there's just not a sound.
So guess what's the first thing I've chose to do?
I've stayed up in bed and I've read - until Two!
And then I've been out and swum in the pool,
returned to the house - so fresh and so cool,
thrown off dripping things and been for a shower,
leaving wet footprints all over the floor.
So now I can see that - 'Yes' - really I am,
when left to myself - exactly like them!
So whilst it was busy - indeed - quite a task,
I can't wait for next year, when they're back to ask?
'Where are my socks, Mum?' 'What room am I in?'
'Is dinner ready?' and 'What's in this tin?'
They'll come trooping back with their tired Northern faces
and each sunny day we'll go through the same paces.
*This poem is taken from a book of poems entitled When In Chile... For details of this, and other books, by Susan click on Gillian Arthur in our Links list.
