Mother: an Original Poem

She still has a strong English accent

When she speaks French, but now

To her despair, she can’t even speak

English without making mistakes.


She hasn’t lost her French,

But she has lost her teeth,

And I can’t help but smile

When she tells me with a lisp,


‘You can’t even notice it, can you?’

Yes, mother, I can notice it,

You have grown old

And I can’t deny it.


There’s nothing less original

Than a poem about one’s mother,

All poets love their mothers

Otherwise they wouldn’t write poetry.


And yet I waited until you were

Almost eighty to write a poem about you,

Perhaps because you don’t like poetry

And even told me I should write in French.


Or perhaps because you’ve

Always been so close to perfection,

As you used to infer, when saying

‘Sorry, I’m not perfect’.


But perfection is boring,

And no one wants to read

A poem about a good mother

Who is loved by her son


And by all the people who meet her.

I am so unlucky:

How will I ever become a great poet

With such a perfect mother,


And such a perfect childhood?

Although you claim you do not like humour

And do not understand irony,

I’m sure you can understand this poem.


About danielhszabo

I guess if I continue like this I'll be able to call myself a writer. For now I'm just an English literature and translation teacher in beautiful Brittany.
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