A Funny Mothers Day Poem

I ran across this poem in one of my old scrapbooks in the attic. I have always enjoyed good humorous poetry, and I like it when I run across a poem I haven't read in years. It brings back a lot of good memories.

There are so many ways a child pronounces the word mother. I've heard several pronunciations like: mudda, maather, maadah, mothar... I'm sure you've heard a few as well.  The last poem I've chosen is "With Mother In The Garden".  The word mother is written and pronounced as muvver.

Enjoy.

Thank you mom for having me

So I can grow up free,

To play in mud

To play with Bud

Who fetches sticks for me.

To play my sports

All kinds, All sorts.

To give you clothes to wash,

To keep me clean

To keep me lean

Oh, wait,

I've another bug to squash!

D. Alsup

I just couldn't stop with one funny mothers day poem. Since Mothers Day is upon us these poems are great to share with the mother or mothers' in your life. These poems can be used as readings or memorized peices at any event honoring mothers.

Here are a few other poems I'm sure you will enjoy.

My mother seems to always know

When I am good or bad,-

I see it in her face each hour

By happy look or sad;

I have a new intention now

Which I'll try to keep each day

And then, instead of worried brow,

She'll wear a smile alway!

My mother is the smartest person

You could ever see;

She can answer any question

That sure will puzzle me!

Talk about your "information."

Mother's surely got her share;

She can answer "how" and "when"

"What and "why" and "where!"

There never is a single question

But she knows the way

It should be correctly answered

And she's right, I say!

Gee! You've got to hand it to her,-

Knows most everything "by heart",-

She is sweet and kind and good

And she's awful smart!

When muvver's in the garden,

'At's where I like to be,

'Cause then I git to help her

A-pickin' things you see.

I help her with the cabbage

An' she don't care at all

When I play bowlin' alley

With cabbage fer a ball.

An' when I count the beanses

She never had to look,

But always knows exac'ly

How many she must cook.

Sometimes we digs b'tatoes

An' when I throw too fur

An' miss it where's the basket

She laughs at me an' her.

She laughs , too, when I holler

'Bount bein' skeered o' toads,

But I'm more scared o' lizards

'At jumps out 'long the roads.

An' muvver thinks it's funny

When I'm below a tree

Where apples keep a-dropping'

An' cannonballin' me.

But one time when tomatoes

Was ripe she didn't grin-

An' I'm not laughin' neither

Fer trouble I was in.

'Cause when she picked tomatoes,

An' piled 'em in her hat,

I falled right over backwards

An' sit down where they're at!

W. M. Herschell