Mothers Day
When very young, no more than a lad,
mom spanked my hand when I was bad.
Tommy don't meddle, son don't do that,
then on my bottom was placed a love spat.
I could not climb to reach things high,
from where I stood they touched the sky.
I dared never venture to play with fire,
for this would surely bring mother's ire.
Boys don't fuss, boys please don't fight,
you've both been taught this isn't right.
Don't play on the couch, get off the bed,
when we persisted our fannies became red.
As older I grew along came the switch,
this tool of the devil could make me twitch.
Upon my legs red whelps were bared,
to a headstrong boy from a mom who cared.
A mother who at times slept on the floor,
who worried and waited to open the door.
A mother who always gave us what she had,
one who influenced my life when I was a lad.
On this mothers day although she's not here,
in these simple lines I still feel that she's near.
At eighty hard years her life's work was done,
now at ease with Jesus, her victory's been won.
Copyright © Tom Wright | Year Posted 2008
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