Friday, June 8, 2012


My mother had eyes
In back of her head
Her ears were antennae
It often was said.

Our house was a minefield
Kids running about
The place was in chaos
Mom needed her clout.

Four rowdy young boys
And me, the house queen,
Mom must have wondered
Was it nightmare or dream.

Her piercing brown eyes
And ears ever a-twitch
Led us to wonder
Was Mother a witch?

But, far from a witch
She was surely a saint,
Despite searing eyes,
Mothering's not for the faint.

by: Gigi

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