MOTHER MA
'Their, there, they're', she cooed,
'you'll be better in the morning.'
The two, too small, teeny, tiny, wee lassies
lay, laid, laying under a heap of blankets.
They, them, had been unwell for a spell.
It graved her deeply to the marrow.
Mother Ma, went to door,
lean, leaning, leaned neither in, nor out,
hand drawing down, to make way for sleep,
to they, them, snug,
'It's been a long, longer, longest, day sweet ones.'
'Nighty, night, sleep well.'
She looked at them lovingly,
with eyes closed, closing
they laid lying still sleepily.
Morning was a way's away.
Nothing was if not something.
She was never ever if not hopeful.
They were identical, the two tiny.
They looked the same as if one.
It was hard, harder, hardest to tell
which was who, whom from which.
Tho one eye blue, as if sky,
the other, gray, grayer like cloud.
Garments were a matter of Tom Foolery.
Ever practical twas a farce to behold.
They always never wanted the same things,
like, liking what the other hadn't.
If it couldn't be, it wasn't.
Purposely they lived, living by the open sea,
close enough to it where the wave would never reach.
One tiny perfected to dress like a buoy,
oh, ha, which was fine by she, at Halloween,
but always never in a fog moonlit while lying limp upon the swell.
She clanged, clanging her charms, sounded, echoed, echoing cross the blue and mighty.
With next rise of sun, when tide scattered,
they came to be alive.
A livest at eight, they, them, ate,
a bowl big, bigger, biggest, round, and famished,
left leaving none for the gull,
at most, groats hearty to fill the leg.
Better, best as not.
Mother Ma said, 'let you stay home from school,'
Full, fuller, fullest of vim, they, them fought
fighting over whose toys were whose.
It was as unlike as war, with no peace,
it wore mother warily. She desperate, desperately,
undecided, I must make a choice,
not for the better, none for the worse,
but so be it.
Salvaged, aloud quietly she whispered, her ears to listen,
I will poem them.
With hand raised, raising it pounded her ears
like the beating heart of the surf, surfing.
And poem she gave...
They would meet over dinner
Around the big table,
She would tell them a tale
A story, a fable
It was the tale of a monkey
Born without tail
A tale of a witch
With a hole in her pail
The tale of a knight
Afraid of the night
They'd all build a fire
And stand in its light
I'm hungry said monkey
Who pulled out some meat
If you want it to cook
You put it near heat.
I'll help said the knight
She pulled out her sword,
And we all know a knight
Is as good as her word
How shall we cook it?
What shall we do?
I like veggies
Let's make us a stew
They added the meat
And one big potato
A carrot or two
And several tomato
By the fire they stood
The pot it was hot
They threw in a vole
And a mouse that they caught
They threw in a skunk
And a bat and a rat
All we need now
Is a black and white cat
Out of the blue
And in front of the gloom
Another witch came
Passed by on a broom
I'm looking for Missy
Who seems to be missing
I stepped on her tail
And off she went hissing
Witch number one
Looked at witch number two
You look just like me
Or I look like you
Which witch was which
It was so hard to tell
The monkey exclaimed
I'm under a spell
But the knight was no fool
She hardly felt fear
She went to the witch
And she stood very near
Please stay for dinner
You'll like it I'm sure
It'll be ready
In an hour, no more
Witch number two
Was extremely suspicious
This stew is the best,
It's extremely delicious
She took off her cape
Then doffed her tall hat
Have you by chance seen
A black and white cat
No, said the knight
Oh no, said witch one
The monkey said nothing
she only said, um.
