My mother likes to hear me read
My poetry and verse.
She chuckles at the better lines,
And laughs when they are worse.
But skill is neither here nor there,
Nor is the poetry,
When I recite a silly verse
For Mom, my wife, and me.
She likes to hear archaic words
Like whither, thee, and thou,
And hopes that I will pen a verse
About a purple cow.
But even as the purple cow
Remains beyond my reach,
I have the means to tell the world
That Mother is a peach!