What, oh what, shall I make? What lilting tune shall I create To be the music of my life? A song of Mother? Teacher? Wife?
How could I merge the many years Composed of laughter, doubt, and tears Into a single piece or time? I cannot form the proper rhyme.
Though I confide, if I might, That every day and every night I lie awake, I lie abed Putting notes to words I’ve said.