(This poem was read by me as part of Miss Acorne's 'Tribute to Moms Everywhere' at the 'Dance Thru the Forest of Oaks' event 2023)
The Power of Mom (Mum or Ma if you prefer)
A hobbit lad, one Dudo Chubb, once wandered off from play,
And all the way to Rushock Bog the little chap did stray;
Thinking not of dangers there, he took a little stroll
But froze in dread, when up ahead, appeared an ugly troll!
With a grunt the troll stepped up and grabbed him in his fist,
And shook him hard from side to side, the lad could not resist;
He held him high above his head then swung him round and round,
Then threw him down into the marsh, the poor lad nearly drowned.
A sorry figure home did wend, his clothes were ripped and torn,
Swathed in grime, and smelly slime, wretched and forlorn.
His mother stood upon the step, her hands upon her hips,
“Where’ve you been, you’re late again?” she asked through close pursed lips.
When she saw the state of him, she was far from amused:
“You’re filthy and your clothes are ruined – what happened to your shoes?”
The lad relayed his sorry tale with many a sob and tear,
And when she heard what had occurred she grabbed him by the ear.
“If you know what’s good for you not one word more you’ll speak;
Wait ‘til your father hears of this, he’ll ground you for a week!
Get in the tub, and start to scrub, and let’s have no more tears,
Splish! Splash! Splosh! be sure you wash behind both of your ears!”
A mother’s love is absolute and Campanula Chubb
Would surely not so lightly take this assault on her cub.
For all her chiding of the lad she sorely felt his plight
And she determined there and then, this wrong she’d soon put right.
Now spick and span, the little man emerged to face his doom,
And after close inspection she just sent him to his room;
With a sternly pointing finger bid him stay ‘til she got back,
Kissed him, said she’d missed him, if he moved he’d get a smack!
So with grim determination, she set off straight away,
Her clear goal, to beard that troll, before the end of day.
When a mother’s on the warpath, then all had best beware,
To cross her path, and risk her wrath, only a fool would dare!
An unsuspecting goblin on patrol around the wood
Waved his spear and tried to look as fierce as he could;
But when she saw him pull his face, she said “The wind might change,
And then your face will stick so that it can’t be rearranged!”
Unaccustomed as he was to being so addressed,
Confused and slightly worried, back to camp he quickly pressed;
But not before a firm reproach the ill-starred orc assails:
“And how long is it since you cleaned under your fingernails?”
A big black bear approached her then and gave such mighty roars,
But Campanula told him that he’d best go clean his paws.
He roared again and from his mouth such foul odours rushed;
“Go and wash your hands and face, make sure your teeth are brushed!”
A Dourhand Dwarf addressed her then with, “Halt! And who goes there?”
“Don’t you adopt that tone with me!” she answered with a glare.
“You really need to smarten up, your beard’s far from neat,
Now stand up straight, and don’t be late, quick march, beat the retreat!”
The dwarf obeyed the voice he heard, more fearsome than his sergeant.
Then as the afternoon drew on her quest became more urgent.
Venturing deep within the Bog, unfazed by slug and toad,
She reached the knoll where that rude troll did make his rough abode.
The troll woke from a little nap, and was surprised to hear:
“I want a word with you, my lad!” come ringing in his ear.
“I’ve heard of how my own dear son you sorely did abuse;
Such discourteous behaviour I really can’t excuse!
“So I’m going to teach you manners and how you should behave,
How to speak to folk politely and not to rant and rave.
The way to greet a stranger is by warmly shaking hands,
Not pick him up and swing him round with no thought where he lands!”
The troll, affrighted, scratched his head, and stood with mouth agape,
He’d ne’er before been lectured so, and looked to make escape,
But Campanula wasn’t done, he had to toe the line,
“I’m not asking you, I’m telling, I don’t want to hear you whine!”
Under this mom’s tutelage the creature was reformed,
His hair was neat, he washed his feet, his aspect was transformed.
He learned to mind his p’s and q’s, to curb his peevish rants,
And when he went a-visiting, to wear clean underpants.
She said “This place is filthy, this knoll is a disgrace;
I’ll stand here while you tidy, make sure nothing’s out of place.
Come on, look sharp, I’ve things to do, I’m going to count to three,,,
Under her gaze he sprang to work with great alacrity.
By the time the work was done that troll was close to tears,
He never had been treated thus in all his livelong years.
“Stop that crying now before I give you cause to weep,
And don’t forget to say your prayers before you go to sleep.”
Then Campanula made her way back to her happy home
And swore that she would never more allow her boy to roam.
The little lad was fast asleep, safe tucked up in his bed;
His mother gently planted a soft kiss upon his head.
Never underestimate the powers that mothers wield
Rooted in the bond of love which at our birth is sealed.
To all moms here, appreciation gladly we express
And each of us with warmest thoughts our own dear mothers bless.
