Which news threw the household
into dire confusion. She sang-
so now we'd need to rename
the bloody thing.
But what? Stevie, perhaps, or
Jeff, maybe, or Bill?
Imagine our consternation when
out from Hebe flew another trill.
What should it be?
Hourly, we badgered Grandma
who smiled, not unpleasantly,
pleased to be arbitor
in so delicate a matter.
She thought and thought
of what was right and meet
and finally, God-like, delivered her verdict:
'Let he be Hebe. Change naught'.
So we did as she bid-Hebe kept his name
but sang alot
and that was the end of that.
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Comments about this poem (Hebe II by Morgan Michaels )
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