H. U. a.

Your box
Filled with no bake cookies
Gold Bond foot powder
(I wish I could have gotten you the one with mint)
and all the pocket sized Purell I could buy
Oh! Wait, I forgot the baby-wipes!
I'll get those when I send it off, promise...

Promise...

Promises, so many of them I've tried to keep
Not many of them carried through
I made a promise to be here for you

All of you...

But it hasn't been the way I intended
So many of you I had to back away from
Not wanting to interfere
With what else you were having to put up with
I didn't want to be another point of frustration
Not while you were pushing here and there
In the Sandbox in that certain neighborhood park
And now I feel the distance

Distance...

More than any sung about on the radio
Written about in History books
Protrayed by Oscar winning thespians
Dreamed about by unknowing children
Or that in any way can be measured

I just want you home
I just want it to be over
I don't want to worry anymore
Whether or not I'll be able to send the boxes
Or whether or not you'll get them

I look at the box
And give another look to check
I'll buy the rest
Before I go to the Post Office

Promise...