What are you doing little feet?
Walking around so discreet.
What are you doing little hands?
Banging on pots and pans.
What are you whispering there?
Hoping that I won’t hear.
Don’t you know I have my spies?
Don’t you know where I keep my extra eyes?
On the back of my head is where they rest.
You’re better off having confessed,
What is it you are up to today?
Come on, I know everything already any way.
I’m giving you just one last chance to explain away.
Of course, I knew you were making me breakfast on Mother’s Day.
(c) 2014 Copyright Elena Plotkin
Elena Plotkin
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mom-s-little-feet-and-little-hands/
