At The Swimming Pool
By Grannyrosie
Storming through the entry doors, Brood of three in tow. Children crying, “Mummy”. Things it seems, she doesn’t want to know. One, clinging as if ivy, Shy, retreating, full of fear. ”Ï don’t like the chlorine” Still, she doesn’t want to hear. Pushing, bustling, bullying them, Not stopping, or listening to their needs. Little boy, stony faced, Paying her no heed. This exercise for Mother, Perhaps an unsavoury chore? Not aware that for her little ones, It is nothing more. AH! She smiled. Another Mother sitting there, Suggested they may drown. Ponder her reaction, Other Mothers frown. Overworked, overstressed, Not tuned to their, or her, needs. Such discontent, disharmony, Our speedy society breeds. Little Mother, stop a while. Slow down, don’t rush their life on by, For moments missed in their development, Eventually, you will cry. Listen Mother, to what they say, Applaud the things they do. Nurture within them friendship, True love, and respect for you. Written February 14th, 2002 © on Feb 13 2002 11:04 PM PST, Patricia Rosenberg 0 • 10
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"Storming through the entry doors,..."