Ask me what it’s like to help raise
My mother: you have to show her
You care for her, and give her praise.
Easy you say? Have you ever
Listened to grown-ups who can talk
Incessantly about things from
Zebra to alphabet, yet balk
At a question like, “Where’s my thumb?”
But you can’t blame them for trying
Ev’ry trick in the book to stop
The flow of thoughts which I’m sighing:
How? When? Who? Why? And where’s the top?
Before I can sneak a query
Under Mum’s conversing with Chris,
Nicely must I climb her weary
Knee and offer her a wet kiss;
Else I won’t get something to drink,
Regardless of what you might think.
(written in 1978)