I know I’m not a poet
I had a bad day with my own duckling. In need of comfort, I called my mom. She really is the person I’ve always tried to be more like. She’s always calm and practical, (I’m not as accomplished at that) and she never fails to soothe some of the worst of the aches that come from life and love, and all things between.
This is the result of the conversation, involving a certain stubborn, hardheaded, bang my head against a wall but he’s not going to listen, duckling.
She assures me vehemently, that he is very much my son (and then she giggles). Note- I didn’t say she wasn’t evil, where else would I have acquired it?
But that the duckling giving me such fits, is just like I was, when I was that age. I disagree but hey, she might have a point or 2.
Thanks Mom, I really appreciate it.
A Mother To Her Duckling
One Mother to her duckling, she crooned and soothed
Speaking in that special language that only Mothers can do
To another such Mother and of her own duckling too
Of her pain and anguish she fears she’ll never see through
You can’t make him do what you want him to do, she said calmly
But he’s going to trip and he will certainly fall!
Yours is to nurture and to be his guide, she replied
But he’s making mistakes, ones I can’t help with, why won’t he just see?
It doesn’t have to be this way, I know I wasn’t this hardheaded for you
Who are you kidding, not stubborn, oh no not you Ha!
You were the one who taught me to sing the blues
He’s a stubborn little duckling, so much more than me
You can’t until he’s ready, he has to learn for himself, was her answer to me
But Mom, it hurts me so much to just let him go
I can’t protect from what I can’t see and what I’m not told
My own sweet duckling, you think I don’t know?
Bad days are going to happen, some come in droves
You must let him have them, work through them or he won’t grow
Silly little one, I know what it feels like to hurt,
I know the worry for when you have to let them fly, you’ll never know
How many times I’ve cried for when life knocked you into the dirt
You got right back up unassisted, with a dirty shirt
I didn’t have it easy, not with raising three of you
You all gave me hell, each and every one of my brood
Remember this is just another lesson in life, the kind that has to be learned,
I did it and we survived, it’s your turn to let go
Don’t all ducklings yearn to fly? Don’t they keep trying until they do?
Just as every duckling has to learn hard lessons, more than a few
He’ll know how to make his own way and I expect he’ll surprise you
I know this stings, but he won’t learn until you do
Know this one thing, no matter whatever else you may do,
Never be tempted to sugarcoat or lie, because it will backfire on you,
You will only delay his progress and halt what stands to be gained
Try to keep this in mind, try your best to smile, it does get easier
if only for awhile
Now hush sweet baby, dry those tears, I hate to hear you cry
You may be all grown up with nest of your own, but to me you shall forever be
My own sweet duckling, my most stubborn one, the first of my three
You survived, you learned to fly, you’ve always made us proud, both your Dad and me
- Shift! Shift! (poetry) (everything2.com)