CELIA'S POEMS

No 254     November 26

 

I think us mothers need a medal,

The jobs we have to do,

In fact until youíve done it,

You havenít got a clue.

 

When they are laid inside you,

The little bundle for you to keep,

But when they escape out of there,

You donít get any sleep.

 

When my two youngest daughters,

Were about ten and eleven years old,

They came into the room one day,

Couldnít believe what we were told.

 

Weíre leaving home together,

And weíre not coming back,

My husband said, well thatís good news,

Iíll come and help you pack.

 

They set off to the bus stop,

So I rang their Grandma,

I knew where they were going,

It wasnít very far.

 

She said, well donít you worry,

Theyíll not get to unpack,

Theyíve got the best of mothers,

Iím sending them right back.

 

So when they went to bed that night,

They said that they were sorry,

But for a little while that day,

It really made me worry.