He didn’t like the casserole
and he didn’t like my cake,
He said my biscuits were too hard
not like his mother used to make.
I didn’t perk the coffee right
He didn’t like the stew.
I didn’t mend his socks
The way his mother used to do.
I pondered for an answer
I was looking for a clue.
Then I turned around and
smacked him one
like his mother used to do.
I love a good poem, don’t you?!?!
Author unknown to me