Oh, ugh!

I realized that it's Mothers' Day on Sunday, which means I am morally obligated to address that fact in Saturday's column. I'm not really a fan of the holiday, but when I once wrote a column for the D-News confessing that, you would have thought I'd said HEY! LET'S GO CLUB SOME BABY SEALS!

Gotta think of something to write . . .

Poems for Mother's Day

Just got back from the inspirational lesson session. While I was there, a guest performed a Mother's Day song that was a leetle over-the-top in terms of sentiment. The residents enjoyed the performance, so that's all that matters. But it did put me in mind of bad Mother's Day poems like the following by the very earnest Rev. E. E. Bradford (1860-1944).

"His Mother Drinks"

Within a London hospital there lies,
Tucked in his cot,
A child with golden curls and big blue eyes.
The night is hot,
And though the windows in the long low ward
are open wide,
No breath of air comes from the sun-baked yard
That lies outside.

A kindly nurse who sees his wistful smile,
To cheer him cries;
"The doctor says that in a little while
He'll let you rise,
And send you home again!" His eyes grow dim.
She little thinks
What since his father died home means to him--
His mother drinks!

Feel free to get into the spirit of the holiday by posting Bad Mother's Day poems yourself.