The story of a very kind Mother who brought up her children using the art of story telling...She was missed a lot by them when she passed away.


Mother

Mother dear
With you around we had nothing to fear
You could easily dry every tear
With an encouraging word, a warm hug, or some hot soup
We still wonder how you managed the troop
Of six noisy, hungry, thirsty children
Vying unendingly for your attention
Of course it was not always hunky dory
But you managed everyone with a simple story
We listened to parables, fables and your little tales
That were meant to teach us to smoothly sail
Through life's trying situations
So no matter what the wrong doing
You never resorted to caning
The old adage -Spare the rod and spoil the child
Was impossible to follow for someone so mild
While the neighboring mothers spanked their brats
For even the smallest of childish spats
We were merely told a story & admonished to be good
If not, we risked missing your charming smile and good mood
Now there is no one to advise us
We have to manage our own children's fuss
But without your unending repertoire of stories
That Eulogized great persons and their past glories
We cannot discipline them with your degree of finesse
It is something about which we can only reminisce.




Poetry by Sandra Martyres
Read 297 times
Written on 2007-09-12 at 20:23

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