The Hovering Mother

The hovering mother is never quite out of sight. She hovers morning, midday, noon, and night Darting from tree to tree, she’d fervently hide, Or at the back of a bus, when they took a ride. Looking for ways, to keep out of view, Believing she’s diligent, but has nothing better to do, Her children sigh, whenever she comes near, For the freedom they seek, she lives...in fear. "Protection", she says, is her duty to perform, But instead of good, all she’s doing is harm. The hovering mother, who learnt a tad late, That the world exists in and outside her gate. She learned how to show, as well as to speak, That it’s easier to hide, and harder to seek, From airbrushed billboard, to subliminal screen, Much more lies hidden...than is openly seen. Cakes and biscuits have ingredients easily bought, But we grow through lessons, both tried and taught. Tell her it’s okay, to sometimes take a peripheral view. Have a much-needed rest, do something creative, or new. Children need to be heard, and space to grow, Not a hovering mother who's always in tow. Joanna Davis