The Step-Parent

I just don’t care that they don’t have my blood.

I’m sure that that could not, of import, be.

‘Cause either way their shoes will crust with mud.

And still the same, their laughter transmits glee.

I hear them breathe soft sighs as slumber comes

while strapped within the seat belts in my car.

My table’s just as dirty with the crumbs.

They giggle watching Grover’s NEAR and FAR.

I love them and I hope their dreams come true,

and that their lives are filled with joy, not pain.

And anything to keep them safe I’d do.

A love like this a person could not feign.

 I don’t care that I cannot make my own

when it will satisfy to see these grown.