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Poetry: Motherhood

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Our Children

Puddles form on the playgrounds,
Children playing, it's a splashing time,
All are soaked, a lot of fun had,
Filthy and wet, their screaming mad.

Mud on the grass, to there delight,
Slippery fun, for everyone,
Grass stained, Mud and freezing cold,
"We don't care, were not old!"

Screaming with laughter, the bell sounds
"all in now, out of the cold."
Water and mud, comes in too,
"Dirty children," what shall we do.

All they ask is for love and fun,
For there sweet dirty faces tell us so.
They love the dirt, as we love them,
So all we can say, "go on, have fun."

Fragile hearts, muddy feet
So sweet and innocent, until they speak!
Not so naive, as they put us straight,
These little hearts, so young just 8.

They copy our bad habits,
Then put us to shame,
With screaming tantrums for all hours,
Yet when were sick, they bring us flowers.

Learn more about this author, Septima Kelly.
Contact this writer Click here to send this author comments or questions.

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Poetry: Motherhood

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Poetry: Motherhood

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