To write a poem about Mama...
Would take a million pages...
She's as wise as Methuselah and
always seems ageless...

She gives out advise...
In ten seconds flat...
And when you try to digest it...
You still don't know where you're at...

She's as sweet as she can be...
And constantly worries about me...
But, when I don't call to give her the facts...
I'd better watch out...
Because that's when I get the ax...

Where have you been?...
What have you done?...
Did you go out?...
Did you have fun?...

Who were you with?
What does he do?...
Is he financially stable?...
Or is he through with you?...

Mama's a darling...
Of that there's no doubt...
But, I can't seem to tell her...
What my life is all about...

Because she's as wise as Methuselah...
And never ages...
As far as I'm concerned...
I can't write a poem with a million pages...