Just For You Poetry

She was the silent spectator,
Ideally she'd have preferred,
To be her story's narrator,
A dream that had to be deferred.

She did endure his porcine grunts,
His way of acknowledging her.
After his unsuccessful job hunts
To sympathise would have been a slur.

This drama continued for years,
The grunts and growls they never changed.
In her pillow she saved her tears,
Believing he was quite deranged.

The ever devoted mother,
Who'd lost her husband years ago.
Who couldn't play the role of father,
To control her son's massive ego.

But now she knew it was too late,
He'd most certainly outlive her.
She'd never have the chance to relate
All the true stories of yesteryear.

Sadly, no one would ever know
How she struggled to help him grow...

A heartfelt write.

A sad account of mothers who love beyond doubt and yet get no care in return - - you verse the poor silent spectator so vividly here Sandra. Fine rhyming as always.

The sad story of so many mothers...seems those who get the most caring are those who did no raising at all. We must remember our own self worth in spite of the short comings of children's behavior.
Dorothy
Singing A Sad Song

Very sad and heartfelt, Sandra and you write these pieces so well.

You excel with true story telling poems Sandra and mothers sacrifice their being for their love ones. Another sincere and poignant write from you Sandra.

This is is so sad. Yet, that is so often the case in life. Being a parent is hard.

I know this is true and sometimes the more you do for them the more they expect and take for granted.

You have certainly got into the heart of this Sandra and of course that simple word "respect" is often missing in these cases..