Even the best mothers muddle
Some are just more subtle
Than the others who stew up
Emotional storms with every cup
Of tea they poor and sip
Not a loving word drips from the lip
How dare they conceive
There are those who believe
There should be a test
To have the job that's the best
My mother McNaughton
Has never forgotten
What it means
To love all fourteen
Of her tumultuous brood
For she is shrewd
And knows what it takes to be
For she is keen to see
A muddling mother
Must be an advocate lover
No matter what
A kiss or a kick in the ****
To let her children know
Which way they should go
The is no need for insurrection
Or for the pursuit of perfection
Just love and cuddle
It is okay mother to muddle

In the smallest town
of the smallest land-
Not so small
lived a man

Ten feet tall
and not so thin;
Great long hairs
came from his chin

He had no temper
stayed near his abode-
For he had no visitors
he was not loved

Even when only he
was tall or strong enough;
The small people
used mechanical stuff

He knew not why
height was a curse.
Or why a downfall-
was his girth

Nor where it came from
he never  knew
His father small
and his mother too


But trivial became
facts i've said.
As time went on...
black he bled

Rivers he bled-
blacker than oil;
His heart was wrenching
no longer soil

To replace the blood-
new-found power;
Anger struck
on the hour

Not just big,
but monolith.
Those small people
became a myth

Big people come
in many sizes;
It's how power
maintains disguises