"Read to us, Mama,” Gabe said. We’d finished our lunches. Thick pbj sandwiches had become crusty “bones” and the boys wore milk mustaches.
I pulled a book from the shelf - Favorite Poems Old and New. Each day we read from the collection before clearing dishes and racing for recess.
I thumbed through the pages until a title caught my eye. The poem had been written in the 1800s. But it may as well have been written yesterday.
“Listen to this, guys,” I said. And I read a poem by Robert Louis Stevenson: