No, not forever, I don’t
want to live that long.
But another day,
please, another week,
another year, another
decade or four. I don’t
want to be greedy,
but, tell me it’s not my turn
just yet to leave. There
is so much loving left,
so many toys to pick up
off the floor, so many
lunches yet to pack,
so many ghosts to scare
away, so many tears
to wipe, so many lines
yet to draw and erase
and draw again, so
many mistakes waiting
to be made, so much
I still want to give.