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