And he didn’t like my cake,
He said my biscuits were too hard not like his mother used to make.
I didn’t perk the coffee right,
He didn’t like the stew,
I didn’t mend his socks the way his mother used to do.
I pondered for an answer I was looking for a clue.
Then I turned around and smacked the crap out of him….
Like his mother used to do.
******************************************
I love a good poem, don’t you?!?!
