April 30: Two Littles

She reads to her sister now,
bedtime stories, and then,
they cuddle through the night.
In the morning, she'll tell
stories. They'll hide
in the closet for a meeting
to plan out their day,
little one following big one
to chase around and around
in the kitchen,
climb on the roof, or
take turns petting that kitty
named Cupcake.
I do remember those endless days
marked only by
a yellow school bus,
stories told before bedtime,
heartfelt hopes
the parks will open, and
summer will come.

Childhood by jyliagorbachevya (Pixabay)

Today's prompt, the last one for National Poetry Month, comes from Robert Lee Brewer, who challenges us to write a praise poem. But, this morning, I'm missing the grandchildren who give freely such big hugs and run as fast as they can, being nearly eight and five, into their next adventure. Even in quarantine, with only virtual hugs, they spread love.