Some of you may have heard of a person called mum,
There’s loads of wannabes but mine’s the best one,
I thought, if I may,
As her protege,
I’d say thanks, ta and merci for all that’s she’s done.
When I was young she tried to entertain me,
This was tough as some would call me contrary,
I’d call it driven,
Strong and gift-given,
Which figures with a mum so extraordinary.
When I was older I was a struggle to tame,
I was grumpy, plain mad and quick to point blame,
Little did we know,
After times were low,
We’d grow as close as a match and a flame.
Now I can thank her for all the gifts she’s shared,
Hairy arms, clammy hands and knowledge impaired,
They don’t sound that great,
But I think it’s fate,
As we’ve giggled and laughed like neither of us cared.
Her talents don’t stop there, there’s sewing and French,
Not to mention some poetry that made parents guts wrench,
I thought it ideal,
That this skill I steal,
But on this occasion with much less gore and violence!