My Mom made me many meals
When I was but a qsuirt.
She proofreads my poetry
And ironed me a hsirt.
Without her I’d have rwinkly clothes
(And I’d be nonexistent).
Thank you, Mom, for all you’re love
And keeping me consistent!
My Mom made me many meals
When I was but a qsuirt.
She proofreads my poetry
And ironed me a hsirt.
Without her I’d have rwinkly clothes
(And I’d be nonexistent).
Thank you, Mom, for all you’re love
And keeping me consistent!
Filed under Poems