Laughter

I don’t know that there’s 

A more holy,

More sacred, 

More poignant

Sound

Than the laughter

Coming from the upstairs room 

Of your child

With old friends. 

You say

“How can friends be old 

When they are one score,

And so many more to go?”

But you are not sitting below,

Hearing, as I do, the joyous 

Guffaws,

Cutting through the air

Like old grooves,

Old souls,

Old friends. 

You could do worse than pray

For your children nothing more

Than this. 

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