Ohh the laughter, full stomachs echoed,
Chronicles of day on Apron yellowed!
Brisk in gait, there’s a shout and cry,
Nestled, dusted, the little one with salty eye!
Sat the Apron kneeling, daubed by grass green,
Dried the tears, wiped the tiny face clean!
A dark smudge interwoven deep,
Hard to remember, a memory to smile or weep!
Is it the brown from chocolate surprising?
Or is it the mud, from tyres deserting!
A blotch hither, a splotch thither,
Telling the story of toil and moil!
Discoloured by rigorous endeavours,
Stained memories persist forever!
Once so keen to wipe the tint,
These remembrances are the left stints!
Rocking in the Chair, Blinking with each squeak,
There sat the Apron, worn out and piqued!