Mother's cranky still,
she'll be a year away
from ninety-nine, next March.
Face full of basal cells
and wrinkles to alert
the 4 by 4 Brigade,
she'll live to keep it all
and make us sweat,
I hear her words,
there'll be no passing on
of money, goods or zilch!
I have not died as yet,
and I'll be damned I will
before those Communists decide
to wipe the Muslims off
the very face of this here world!
I love my Mom, of course,
but there has been a sudden change
my understanding of the word,
the one they're calling LOVE
ain't quite the same these days.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wonderful poem. An astute observation of a difficult relationship written without sentimentality. The final stanza rounds the piece of with a nice touch of irony. You say a lot without saying too much. I like this very much indeed. Love Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥