The Mother’s hymn

Susan Marks Conner

Some days are a pain in the ass.

You can’t tell the weeds from the grass.

Your eye will not focus

Without hocus-pocus

And the car has just run out of gas.

Lunch was forgotten,

Dinner Fruit Loops

The laundry is piling

The mechanic is smiling,

And the baby is covered with poop.

The phone won’t stop ringing,

The furnace is pinging

And you think you just might fly the coop.

Take a sec to recoup, to rethink and regroup.

Gird your loins to the task—

Remember — this too shall pass!