Sorry if this comes a little too late.
Although I may complain that you do not do enough for me
and that your tiredness is an excuse because you do not love me
Blame this forgetful child who you bore for 9 months in your body,
Cradled in your arms when she could not walk.
For the fingers that would wipe her tears away,
Adorned them, she has not.
Trying to make up for years, in which I have melted your youth
in a few days every year, is a debt I cannot repay.
Hopefully you won’t think any less of me for it.