Its Not Easy
It’s not easy being perfect
I only know I am
I think that its inherited
I get it from my gran
She always knew the right thing
To say, and what to do
Like curing my hiccups
Or making Irish stew
She used to knit my sweaters
Put patches on my jeans
If I couldn’t understand
She’d tell me what it means
Though she’s no longer with us
And I miss her every day
I don’t need her to tell me
What to do or what to say
I don’t need to ask the questions
Cos she taught me all too well
I now know all the answers
So school can go to Hell
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
