He didn't like the casserole
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.
2 people think my kids are qtpies:
looooooove the poem. So true. They will deal. And love us....right?
Hmmm. An idea.
Post a Comment