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Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Tyrant

image source
All day long you fret, complain
All the night long too
Loving you is such a strain
The things you make me do!

I cook your food just to your taste
You stare at it with dread
It's not enough it goes to waste
You throw it at my head!

I choose your clothes with love and care
You'd rather look a mess
But then you go and make me wear
Your lunch upon my dress!

You whine, you cry, your selfish deeds
Why love someone like you?
You only think about your needs
Can't wait 'til you're not two!

submitted for Poetry Potluck at Jingle Poetry

12 comments:

Maude Lynn said...

Three's even worse!

I love this one!

Lolamouse said...

MZ: Try 15! It's a repeat of 2 with hormones!

Louise said...

Fab, fab, every mother should read!

Anonymous said...

apt title, funny and true :)

Bryan White said...

Ah Kids. Aren't they wonderful?

Bryan White said...

Ah Kids. Aren't they wonderful?

JustRex said...

Robert Heinlein once said "A woman's delusions about her children, ie their beauty, grace and intelligence, is the only thing that keeps her from drowning them at birth." I suspect adults are programmed with those delusions to ensure we don't wipe ourselves out. I've known alot of children I wanted to take a large fire hose to.

Lolamouse said...

darev2005: I always thought it was fear of going to prison! And having to return all of those cute little outfits!

Fireblossom said...

*snicker*

I remember those days! My mantra was, "that's what there is...eat it or starve."

Brian Miller said...

heh, yeah they are in for several more years of this...

Anonymous said...

Awww this is so cute I have a 3 year old so my own tiny little tyrant lol Mine has a gourmet palate she eats like Brie cheese smeared on thin ginger snaps and love miso soup and other foods with bold flavors lol

Brent Wescott said...

I like this even though my son's only six months and it doesn't bode well for me.

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