Mummies And their Troubles

My mother is a woman to adore
When we were younger
She told us about how they were poor
But never said anything about hunger.

She is my father’s nightmare
She could play deaf to be a good listener,
Climb a ladder of notes to be a sound singer,
And fall blaming my dad’s bottle of beer.

My mother has a sense of humor
If you go by her frown, you wouldn’t see more
She’d make the table cleaner
And serve my father dinner
But his plates would be empty to even the score.

leonell