gonna rest this weary head on some one who i think will care
Much as I might grouse about the Hippie Mother, it remains, of course, that she is dear to my heart and makes life infinitely more interesting. Therefore, I come bearing more (bad) poetry in honour of Mothers' Day!
When Our Mother Menopauses
When our mother menopauses
Oh, it is a trying time!
Who can say what are its causes
Save a body past its prime?
When our mother menopauses
It marks the end of carefree glee
For among her ire’s sources
At the top we’re sure to be
As she lists the things she hate
We shudder at our numerous crimes:
“Correct your awkward speech and gait
O these manners! O these times!”
When our mother menopauses
We reckon it’d be wise to flee
‘Tis the best of our recourses
To preserve our sanity!
When our mother menopauses
We concede, ‘tis far from fun
But drawing on our love’s resources
We will bear it ‘til she’s done.
When Our Mother Menopauses
When our mother menopauses
Oh, it is a trying time!
Who can say what are its causes
Save a body past its prime?
When our mother menopauses
It marks the end of carefree glee
For among her ire’s sources
At the top we’re sure to be
As she lists the things she hate
We shudder at our numerous crimes:
“Correct your awkward speech and gait
O these manners! O these times!”
When our mother menopauses
We reckon it’d be wise to flee
‘Tis the best of our recourses
To preserve our sanity!
When our mother menopauses
We concede, ‘tis far from fun
But drawing on our love’s resources
We will bear it ‘til she’s done.