MOTHERLAND AT 64
You may have been battered,
Your apparel looks tattered,
Yet you remain strong.
Though you’re shattered,
You remain unaltered,
Outliving the conspiring throng.
Your roses weren’t watered
In oases that mattered,
Yet you luxuriate long.
You limped and faltered,
Your sleep often hampered,
Yet you wake with a new song.
Your kids, always pampered,
Pitiless, their minds littered
With sins lining the drong.
With a voice that stuttered,
A visage green and white splattered,
They cannot be King Kong.
Mama I know you’re flattered
And would rather be slaughtered,
But you know I’m not wrong.
