My mother was the mistress of the leaf

I can’t write a poem, they all tell me.
Can you write a letter, read the tea?
My mother was  the mistress of the leaf
Paper, tea or even legal briefs.

She told my fortune after I  drank wee.
You’ve swallowed all the leaves, how can this be?
You’ll never be well off  despite your mind
Yett you’ll never want for love, you are so kind.

I tore a leaf from out her book of cheese.
I wrote a free verse on it, just to tease.
She said she  preferred to read the sonnet form
Or  humour, as the laughter kept her warm

Oh, mother how I wish  to hear you laugh
I  have a sense of humour and  much love

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About Kate Thwaite

I love writing , conversation, art, wild flowers, music and air.And books
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