If I were my mother, I would be loud
My lungs would be accustomed to Shouting
For even I know that I am naughty
Prayers, the only time I’ll go softly
I’ll bug my kids room, worry over nothing
I’d hover above them all like a cloud
Freckles, dimples, dents, things they must not shroud
Even in their sadness, there’s no pouting
Price of dignity is never costly.
My hands will never understand gently
Despite all my love, I’ll be less trusting
Even if they fail, they’ll still do me proud
I know I look so much like my father
But deep down I am more like my mother.