CELIA'S POEMS

No 254     November 26

I think us mothers need a medal,

The jobs we have to do,

In fact until you’ve done it,

You haven’t got a clue.

When they are laid inside you,

The little bundle for you to keep,

But when they escape out of there,

You don’t get any sleep.

When my two youngest daughters,

Were about ten and eleven years old,

They came into the room one day,

Couldn’t believe what we were told.

We’re leaving home together,

And we’re not coming back,

My husband said, well that’s good news,

I’ll come and help you pack.

They set off to the bus stop,

So I rang their Grandma,

I knew where they were going,

It wasn’t very far.

She said, well don’t you worry,

They’ll not get to unpack,

They’ve got the best of mothers,

I’m 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.