BRINGING UP MOTHER
My children don't purposely pain me.
They mean to be patient, I know,
As gently but firmly they train me
In the way that a mother should go.
They say my illusions are many;
They smile at the things I believe.
(My reasoning process (if any),
They laughingly label naive.
Do you think I resent them? No, never.
I accept all the training they give,
For I hope to be modern and clever
By the time that I die--if I live!
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