Nothing could ever match the thrill
Of having my son lead us around the Hill,
Landing a White House West Wing tour
And poking my praying head through the Oval Office door.
Daughters of the Revolution gave me hope
My progeny might land on their rolls,
Taught me of Phillis Wheatley, The Revolution's Poet Laureate
A fellow wordsmith, despite her bound chariot [or enslavement?].
Snuck morsels of Calder and Mary Cassatt
Between back spasms and ice pack stops,
Even got to the National Cathedral
For carillon hymns and vibes medieval.
My knee made me a tad slow pokey
But I ordered correctly my DeSalles gnocchi
The metro was smooth; the weather sultry
The company cool; the expenses paltry.
Glad to see the newlyweds at their intern best
Before they head off to their grad school nest.
