I'M Turning Into Mother
I’m turning into mother
Eyebrows, nose, and lips.
Bosoms hanging, almost, to
my child bearing hips.
She’s grumpy and forgetful
And I’m growing much the same.
Tables now are turning
In the parent child game.
It’s me that does the cleaning,
Feeds and dresses too
Who always asks before we go
‘have you been to the loo’?
Her childlike ways increasing
throwing tantrums, snubbing food,
and me left to be patient
understanding, kind, and good
I’m turning into mother.
But the future I can see.
‘cos they tell me life’s a circle,
and soon, that child will be me.
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