At Saint Peter's gate

When there is no longer time to spend,
I shan’t recite the words I’ve penned,
for Saint Peter who shall demand,
that I recount deeds of my hand.

Nor shall I tell of corporate gains,
or of my ride on success’ train.
For those goals which possess us all,
will ultimately measure small.

Instead I’ll tell of all the time,
I spent reciting a nursery rhyme,
and when I rocked my babe till dawn,
or rolled and laughed upon the lawn.

Those acts performed by
       father or mother,
                    will measure far
                              beyond all others.