Hell hath no fury like his mother’s belt.
It descends with such power, in tune with his yelp.
She shouts, “What d’ya mean you forgot?
I said, ‘Clean the sink!’”
Then the belt meets his bum turning wan skin pink.
small or great;
She’ll be irate.
That whip is no stranger
Just you wait.
Her unbridled temper…
Soon, her blood will seethe…
Her blood will boil.
She’s void of ruth and merciless,
Like a man consumed by love of pelf.
The poor little boy, held under duress
By a mother who’d thrash the devil himself.