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The Mother's Tale
(with apologies to Chaucer's 'Canterbury Tales)

Experience itself will vouch for me
that this bitter tale is true,
though none will like this Arctic waste
a family, bold and barren,
that in a time of plenty, rich and fair,
doth trash its ageing mother.

Only I now dare
to tell this tale,
this common sad scenario
where children mock a fond mother's care
(while mine rushed to richer Daddy)
and trauma flies on howling winds
as each Mother's Day returns.

'You can't ever replace the mother,' thus spake the nurse in awe,
'That smell of mother's purest love, her gentle voice, her touch,
that comfort sure, her care, concern when danger doth affright us.
Those minutes, weeks and months and years, yes, a life it takes
for the babe you birthed, the lamb you call your own.'

But broken my years of heart and hands, perhaps by brutish genes,
their justice blind, my offspring - ghosts, their absence still quite chilling,
that legacy of anger, blame, and who best to fault but Mother?
Who else indeed, as souls fractured, split,
and divorce leached love away?

Lessons learned with floods of tears, no rallies for this cause,
just detritus from hungry chicks, the savage sharp beaked nestlings
keen to rip and tear, to crit, chastise, to brand my passions madness,
my woes their new-found pleasure, my pluck too soon condemned,
difficult I was adjudged by them, an ageing wintry blight,
with no hope for their fealty, their forgiveness or delight.

So Mother's Day comes round once more on this merry morn in May
as I sit and stroke my soft haired dog, my sweet-faced, loyal companion
and I think of those that do trash their Mums
and I see their foul dishonour.

But I'll shed no bitter tears no more for a cause that bodes me ill
For I did love my mother dear and it proved me fair and good,
and I gave her warmth as she sank in age, filled her every want and need
and I swear that Love doth conquer all. It's a blessing fine and true
but not for all, and that's God's way, and we'll bend there to his will.

So on Mother's Day I'll think on this
and not feel sad, harassed
I'll be grateful for this life I've shaped
and let go the things I've lost.


HERE ENDETH THE MOTHER'S TALE