Mothers Who Don’t Understand – Augusta Skye

‘Why can’t you tidy your room?’ they cry,
Millions of mothers who fret round the land,
‘It’s a horrible mess, I’ve never seen worse,’
– Mothers who don’t understand.

They don’t understand how cosy it is
To have piles of books on the floor,
And knickers and socks making friends with the vest
Under the bed, where they like it best,
And notices pinned to the door.

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