I talked with my mother
she whinged and she whined
'be kind to each other',
was the thought in her mind.
It's been many moons
that I followed her voice
but she sings the same tunes
to the men and the boys.
When the minutes had passed
she said, boy, mind the draft
and I gathered at last
that she thinks I am daft.
And her son is a talker
who reminded his mother
to rely on her walker
and be kind to each other.
Herbert Nehrlich
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-phone-call/
