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